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Kinktober 2021 : Kamari333 Edition

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HI FOLKS!

Beyond this point you will find ~65k words of pure, unadulterated, self indulgent, Undertail-themed SIN, all published for Kinktober2021. Please note that there may be plenty of typos, although I will/have since gone back and fixed some of them since I'm garbage and read my own stuff, and this year I have been indulging in the use of my lovely betas!

For quick and easy perusal I am putting a Table of Contents here.


Day 00: Table of Contents <=== YOU ARE HERE

Day 01: Hands Full
Prompts: Rimming; Macro/Micro; Tickling
Kinks: Rimming; Macro/Micro; Tickling; Bondage; Dacryphilia; Oral
Pairing: Bitty!Dr33mtal3!Nightmare Sans / Xtale Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity
Length in Words: ~2k

Day 02: Being Kept as His
Prompts: Gore; Spanking; Boot Worship
Kinks: Bondage; Sex Toys; Orgasm Denial; Aphrodesiacs; Gore; Spanking; Boot Worship;
Pairing: Outertale Papyrus / Underfell Papyrus / Underpatch Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; Noncon/dubcon; Body Horror; Nonconsensual Drug Use; Yandere
Length in Words: ~1.8k

Day 03: A Fulfilling Game
Prompts: Petplay; Body Worship; Bukkake
Kinks: Pet Play; Body Worship; Bukkake; Anal; Kissing; Shower Sex; Bondage
Pairing: Reapertale Sans / Underlust Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity
Length in Words: ~3k

Day 04: In His Lap
Prompts: Bimbofication; Cockwarming; Collaring
Kinks: Cockwarming; Collars; Empathy; Kissing; Edging; Orgasm Denial; Exhibitionism; BDSM
Pairing: Burlesque (Dancetale Sans / Underfell Sans / Underlust Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; weed; pre-consented sex while under the influence
Length in Words: ~1.5k

Day 05: Red Gets Bullied 1
Prompts: Panties & Lingerie; Glory Hole; Foodplay
Kinks: Panties; Crossdressing; Gloryhole; Toys; Orgasm Denial; Sounding; BDSM; Bondage; Humiliation; Degradation; Teasing; Praise; Food Play
Pairing: RottenCherryBerry (Fellswap Sans / Underfell Sans / Underswap Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity
Length in Words: ~1.7k

Day 06: Cash's Cow
Prompts: Bondage; Overstimulation; Noncon/Dubcon
Kinks: Bondage, Overstimulation; Toys; Micro/Macro; Blindfolds; Milking (adjacent/analagous); Licking
Pairing: Bitty!Dr33mtal3!Nightmare Sans / Swapfell Papyrus
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; dubcon; misuse of a toothbrush
Length in Words: ~2.2k

Day 07: Lust Gets Pampered
Prompts: Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Somnophilia; Feederism
Kinks: Double Penetration; Somnophilia; Feederism; Empathic Bonds; Body Worship; Oral; Anal; Kissing; Handcuffs
Pairing: Burlesque (Dancetale Sans / Underfell Sans / Underlust Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; chronic illness; drug use
Length in Words: ~2.2k

Day 08: Spring Flowers
Prompts: Breeding; Body Modification; Sensory Deprivation
Kinks: Breeding; Body Modification; Sensory Deprivation; Orgasm Control; Teasing; Bondage; Sacrum Lacing; Xenophilia
Pairing: Dr33mtal3 Dream Sans / UndeRNG Sans (Falsi)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; noncon/dubcon; yandere
Length in Words: ~2.2k

Day 09: Reflections 1
Prompts: Humiliation; Intercrural Sex; Oviposition
Kinks: Humiliation; Intercrural Sex; Oviposition; Mirror Sex; Tentacles; Dacryphilia; Netorare; Begging; Orgasm Denial
Pairing: Dr33mtal3 Dream Sans / Reapertale Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; noncon/dubcon; yandere
Length in Words: ~1.9k

Day 10: Reflections 2
Prompts: Netorare (NTR); Temperature Play; Clone & Selfcest
Kinks: NTR; Temperature Play; Bondage; Gags; Orgasm Control; Teasing; Anal
Pairing: Dr33mtal3 Dream Sans / Aftertale Geno Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; noncon; yandere
Length in Words: ~1.2k

Day 11: When Dust Can't Catch a Break
Prompts: Incest; Leather; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism
Kinks: Leather; Exhibitionism; Orgasm Denial; Blindfolds; Bondage
Pairing: Dusttale Papyrus / Dusttale Sans (/ Underswap Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; kidnapping; incest; necrophilia
Length in Words: ~1.8k

Day 12: The Taste of Ink
Prompts: Emeto; Size Difference; Impact Play
Kinks: Emeto (Ink); Size Difference; Impact Play; Orgasm Denial; Bondage; Power Imbalance
Pairing: Ink / Error / Underfell Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; intoxication
Length in Words: ~1.8k

Day 13: Red Gets Bullied 2
Prompts: Omorashi; Sounding; Sadomasochism
Kinks: Omorashi; Sounding; Sadomasochism; Biting; Orgasm Denial; Bondage; Panties; Blindfolds; Kissing; Begging
Pairing: RottenCherryBerry (Fellswap Sans / Underfell Sans / Underswap Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity
Length in Words: ~1.5k

Day 14: Red's Revenge is Sweet for Everyone Involved
Prompts: Free Use; Stockings; Bloodplay
Kinks: Free Use; Stockings; Bloodplay; Biting; BDSM; Public Play; Collars; Role Reversal
Pairing: Rust (Underfell Sans / Underlust Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; implied/mentioned prostitution
Length in Words: ~1.6k

Day 15: A Fair Deal
Prompts: Crossdressing; Tentacles; Praise Kink
Kinks: Crossdressing; Tentacles; Praise; Sacrum Lacing; Orgasm Denial; Bondage; Suspension; Kissing; Empathic Bonds; Soul Sex
Pairing: HoneyCider (Dr33mtal3 Nightmare Sans / Underswap Papyrus)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity
Length in Words: ~1.9k

Day 16: On Impulse
Prompts: Public; Medical Play; Body Swap
Kinks: Public; Medical Play; Body Worship; Body Swap; Kissing; Feet
Pairing: Mafiafell Sans / Outertale Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; chronic illness; injury; character is mute
Length in Words: ~2.9k

Day 17: Working through Bad Days
Prompts: Three (or more)some; Stripping; Sweat
Kinks: Threesome; Stripping; Sweat; Heat/Rut
Pairing: Burlesque (Dancetale Sans / Underfell Sans / Underlust Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; possessive/aggressive urges
Length in Words: ~1.9k

Day 18: Kink's New Pet
Prompts: Daddy & Mommy; Orgasm Denial; Branding
Kinks: Daddy; Orgasm Denial; Toys; Teasing; Praise; Branding; Aftercare
Pairing: Bitty!Dr33mtal3 Dream Sans / Underlust Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; enemies to lovers
Length in Words: ~2.7k

Day 19: Slave Weekend
Prompts: Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Master & slave; Massage
Kinks: Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Master & slave; Massage; Orgasm Denial; Orgasm Control; Sounding; Feet; Sadism/Masochism; Degradation
Pairing: Fellswap Papyrus / Fellswap Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; incest
Length in Words: ~1.7k

Day 20: Like a Dog with a Bone
Prompts: Distention & Cockbulge; Scissoring; Role Reversal
Kinks: Distention; Cockbulge; Scissoring; Role Reversal; Bondage; Teasing; Pillow Fucking; Size Difference
Pairing: Underlust Sans / UndeRNG Papyrus
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; cursed dick; drugging; (consensual) kidnapping and traps;
Length in Words: ~2.2k

Day 21: Slinky is a Good Mate (the Movie)
Prompts: Xenophilia; Titfucking; Armpit
Kinks: Xenophilia; Titfucking; Armpit; Scent; Fingering; Kissing; Biting
Pairing: Dr33mtal3 Nightmare Sans / Lamiatale Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; Drugging; Dubious Consent
Length in Words: ~1.8k

Day 22: A Lazy Day
Prompts: Shotgunning; Frottage; Masturbation
Kinks: Shotgunning; Frottage; Masturbation; Teasing; Empathy; Kisses; Biting
Pairing: Burlesque (Dancetale Sans / Underfell Sans / Underlust Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; weed; implied/mentioned chronic illness
Length in Words: ~2.1k

Day 23: The Speck in Dust
Prompts: Watersports; Knifeplay; Inflation
Kinks: Watersports; Knifeplay; Inflation; Kissing; Bondage; Sounding; Scent
Pairing: Dustard (Dusttale Sans / Underfell Sans)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; kidnapping; brief waterboarding; torture; interrogation; murder; blood; use of a safeword
Length in Words: ~3.9k

Day 24: Auspicious and Covetous Days
Prompts: Pregnancy; Formal Wear; Sex Toys
Kinks: Pregnancy; Formal Wear; Sex Toys; Scent; Biting; Xenophilia
Pairing: Underlust Burgerpants / Female OC
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; implied/mentioned possessiveness;
Length in Words: ~3.4k

Day 25: Icewolf and Their Humans have Sex
Prompts: Lactation; Breathplay; Burnplay
Kinks: Lactation; Breathplay; Burnplay; Oral; Anal; Pegging; Scritches; Kisses; Praise
Pairing: Underfell Icewolf / Female OC / Female OC
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity
Length in Words: ~2.8k

Day 26: What Dust Wants
Prompts: Waxplay; Fisting; Menophilia
Kinks: Waxplay, Fisting, Bondage
Pairing: Dusttale Sans / Underlust Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; implied/referenced chronic illness; mental illness
Length in Words: ~1.3k

Day 27: Overdue Grooming
Prompts: Grooming; Pegging; Stuck in Wall
Kinks: Grooming; Anal; Stuck in Wall; Medical Play; Kissing; Oral
Pairing: HoneyciderTonic (Dr33mtal3 Nightmare Sans / UndeRNG Sans | Falsi / Underswap Papyrus)
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; ptsd; scare and aftercare of scare; trauma response
Length in Words: ~2.9k

Day 28: Killer is Bold and Lazy
Prompts: Human Furniture; Scat; Deepthroating & Facesitting
Kinks: Forniphilia; Face Sitting; Sounding; Tentacles
Pairing: Dr33mtal3 Nightmare Sans / Killer
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; dubious consent; implied/mentioned past abuse; mental health
Length in Words: ~2.2k

Day 29: Break the Ice
Prompts: Feet; Beastiality; Dacryphilia
Kinks: Feet, Dacryphilia, Massage
Pairing: Burgerpants / Doggo
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity;
Length in Words: ~1.3k

Day 30: Spite Session
Prompts: Prostituion; Fucking Machine; Hate Sex
Kinks: Fucking Machine; Hate Sex; Orgasm Control; Orgasm Denial; Toys; Distention; Overstimulation
Pairing: Dr33mtal3 Dream Sans / Underlust Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; mentions of prostitution; swearing; trickery
Length in Words: ~2.4k

Day 31: Bitty-Doctor Playday
Prompts: Combo or free day
Kinks: Macro/micro; Petting; Kisses; Fingering; Empathic Bonds; Sacrum Lacing; Teasing
Pairing: Dr33mtal3 Sans Bitties / UndeRNG Sans
Warnings: unrealistic portrayal of sexual activity; light dubcon but not really cuz he's being a brat about it
Length in Words: ~1.6

Chapter Text

Cross is still standing there, stunned and flummoxed, long after Kink is gone, staring down at the shoebox he had been given with little explanation other than to "take good care of it~" The box has holes punched in the sides and 'fragile' written on the top, so Cross is careful when he carries it back to his room. He might have thought it a kitten from Killer (although how the little shit keeps them hidden from the boss, Cross still doesn't know), except it is far too light to be a kitten, and what little movement he thinks he feels is far too weak. Once in his room, he sets it on his desk and ponders it, staring at it quietly before finally lifting the lid to look inside.

What he finds is not what he is expecting at all: inside the box is a tiny skeleton, no bigger than an action figure, which he could easily hold in one hand. Cross has heard of bitties before (miniature monsters with souls as little as one-one-hundredth a usual monster soul's density), but this is the first time he has ever seen one. The little guy is naked, save for a pair of little brass cuffs on each wrist connected by a thick chain, which was pinned over his head to the cork board that lay in the bottom of the box. Tiny, trembling green eyelights look up at Cross, little bones rattling with anxiety.

A tiny pair of glowing wings are spread under him, the same shade of fearful, icy green as his eyelights.

Cross is in shock. He's also suddenly, irreparably smitten. "boss..?" He murmurs it soft, reaching in to pull out the bitty, cork board and all.

The only response he gets is a subvocal whine.

Under the cork board, which Cross sets gently on his desk beside the box, Cross finds a little notecard. On it is a note from Kink, explaining that, yes, this is indeed a bitty of Nightmare. The note reminds Cross that bitties need physical contact and attention to survive. It says they (whoever 'they' are) are working on making bitty clothes, and in the mean time to 'make do.' Cross frowns at the note about being selectively mute and skittish. He supposes that that is what the chain is for; to keep him from running off and getting hurt. Cross sets the note aside and looks back at what he guesses is his new bitty.

"so. uh. heya. i'm cross." Cross has no idea what the little guy knows. "i'll be… uh… taking care of ya. not real good at that. but i'll try." He reaches down to gently touch the bitty's cheek with the back of a finger, only to stop mid-gesture when the bitty flinches and curls up like he expects to be hit. Cross really shouldn't care about that kind of reaction, but he does, so he pulls back. He puts the now empty box away somewhere, looking around his room for something he can at least cover the bitty up with as a blanket. He ends up finding a scrap of spare cloth that he can cover the bitty's bottom half with, which is something at least.

That settled, Cross gently shifts the bitty off to the side and starts on his paperwork. He has to keep up with the records or Nightmare will absolutely be on his ass, and that is the last thing he wants.

It is time consuming work, just tedious enough that Cross is too easily distracted from it. Every time the chains jingle, he finds himself looking up to watch the bitty instead of his quill pen. Tiny arms keep trying to find the leverage to unpin himself from the cork board, which he just doesn't have the strength to do. His squirming keeps accidentally kicking off the makeshift blanket, which Cross has to then stop writing to replace with utmost gentleness. The bitty curls up when his hands get close, watching him with poisoned terror.

Cross does his best to ignore it, to let the little guy calm down enough to consider his situation rationally, but after an hour of cringing and soft, heart-wrenching whimpers, he can't stand it anymore. "i'm not gonna hurt you, okay?!" he finally snaps, shaking the ink off his quill pen and spinning it in his hand. "see?! look!" And he gently, viciously, starts to use the feathery tip of his pen to assault the little bitty's ribs.

The bitty flinches from initial contact, but it only takes a second for those greens to turn to blues, for those winces to become desperate, involuntary squirming. He grits his teeth, but Cross can hear the change in his breathing, the low bubble of noise that is unmistakably repressed laughter. Cross watches in delight as every joint flushes in powdery blues, as little chibi wings thrash and flare impotently.

Cross has never seen his boss laugh, but he can imagine it is just as cute as this.

The feather pulls back, giving the little bitty a reprieve. Cross can't decide if he likes how that ribcage heaves or how he pants with his teeth parted better. "...see? not hurting you at all, am i?" It's a rhetorical question, but one that Cross needs to ask. He reaches to run a finger up and down the bitty's humerus, just a start on the contact he needs to keep healthy. When he doesn't flinch, Cross feels like he has done something right for once.

When the bitty's breathing finally evens out, sockets that had been shut in teary mirth open to look at Cross. They're a steely blue, and Cross shivers at the color. He feels a little petty yet, so he takes up the quill pen again and starts his feathery attack a second time. The bitty yelps right before contact, this time barely holding back laughter. Cross uses smaller, slower motions, tracing curls along the planes of his bitty's ribs, up his arms, down again, over the sternum, and then finally down the line of his exposed lumbar. By the time he gets that far, however, the laughter has died down and been replaced with a soft, vulnerable little noise.

Cross stops, the tip of the quill pen quivering over the last little vertebrae left uncovered by the makeshift blanket. He has to take a moment and re-contextualize what the situation is. He looks at his bitty's face, where that blue flush is half overtaken by pinks, and feels an odd heat curl in his own ribs and pelvis. The fact that he can see the soft glow of unformed magic pooling under the blanket, in the bitty's pelvic inlet, only makes it more obvious that the situation has changed.

"oh." Cross puts the quill pen down, wondering what kind of stupid face he himself must be making. "do you- uh-" Fuck, please say yes,- "you want help with, uh, that?"

The bitty looks down at himself, blushing harder as he very obviously gives the question due consideration. Cross feels a little more desperate for help of his own, wondering at his self control. When his bitty averts his unfocused gaze, squeezes his sockets shut, and gives him a nod, Cross has to lock his joints to keep from lunging. Only when Cross is absolutely sure he can move with calm precision does he let himself move at all, gently unpinning his bitty from the cork board and picking him up in both hands.

Cross's bitty feels so small; a tiny, moist hand warmer. When his fingers brush against those little wings, Cross can feel the jolt it sends through his whole body. He can feel the rapid fluttering of his tiny, fragile soul, pulsing in every bone.

Cross can also feel, when he slides his thumb under the blanket and between his femurs, that his bitty is soft and warm and wet. His hands tremble more than he would care to admit when he shifts the blanket to leave on the desk, letting him see with his own eyelights the lovely pink pussy and asshole that the bitty has made, settled snugly in his pelvic inlet. The soft light casts a rosy hue over his pelvis and sacrum, stretching down his trembling femurs.

Cross' dick can imagine vividly how nice it would be to sink inside. Unfortunately for Cross, he is too tall to ride that ride as nature might have intended. What Cross can do, and thinks of in the following heartbeat, is another appendage all together.

"is my tongue okay?" Cross asks.

His bitty pulls down his bound arms, hiding behind them with a shyness that Cross finds oddly endearing. It doesn't keep him from seeing the second nod. Consent achieved, Cross gently, carefully turns his bitty over in his hands, shifting his hold so that both legs were hooked over one of his phalanges, pinned nearly to his ribs. He keeps his hold two-handed, wanting to keep the little thing supported and safe as he brings him close enough to probe with his tongue.

Cross starts with his bitty's ass, probing at the puckered little hole experimentally. The soft, startled noise, and the sudden burst of sugar sweet musk in the air, makes him think that it's a good place to linger. The deeper he tries to push, the louder his bitty seems to cry out, the harder his body trembles. Those noises and smells have his pants feeling tight, but Cross ignores himself for now. He continues his very important task, watching what he can see and feeling with his hands what he cannot of his bitty's condition. Cross is proud of the quivers, of the low whimpers and louder cries that almost sound like the start of words. One of his hands is starting to become sticky with pink syrup, which Cross is eager to lick off later. He keeps at it, thrusting and swirling his tongue until his bitty stiffens, back arched, and screams. The accompanying gush from his quivering slit, which splatters Cross' face, is proof enough that he has done his job well.

Cross, however, has never been one to settle for adequacy. This is the first time his bitty is letting him touch him, and Cross wants to prove he's worthy of that. It takes very little effort to shift from tonguing that puckered hole to the soft, trembling slit dripping in sugary juices. Cross laves a long, slow lick, cleaning the mess and tasting his bitty fully. He barely hears his bitty's moan over his own throaty groan, but he hears him moan again when he delves inside, and that's encouragement enough.

Cross is thorough, testing his bitty's stretch in small, shallow increments to make certain he only ever brings him pleasure. His bitty writhes in his hands, singing and sobbing wordlessly as Cross works him into another climax, this time one he can taste fresh and feel the tremors of.

After that second release, Cross feels all the tension fall out of the body in his hands. He pulls his mouth away, turning his bitty back over to look at him more clearly, cradling him in his open palms. The bitty is drenched in sweat and pink sugar, flushed and panting in shaky, slow puffs of air so hot it looks like steam. His limbs tremble in irregular spasms, riding out the aftershocks in what appears to be a daze. Tiny pink blurs in his sockets blink up at Cross, his expression one of anguished struggle as he fights against the pull of sleep. He ultimately fails; his head falls to one side, nuzzling against Cross' finger.

Cross cradles his bitty close, getting up and walking over to his bed. He starts to lay back, before a thought occurs to him. He sits on the edge of the bed, laying his bitty on his pillow, and quickly takes off his breastplate and pauldrons. When the cruel metal is set aside, he also sheds his stiff gauntlets and boots, so only the softer fabrics of his scarf and body suit remain. Satisfied, he scoops his bitty up again to cuddle against him comfortably.

Cross has never been so hard in his life. Now, however, he cannot spare a hand to do anything about it.

Chapter Text

G blinks at the world around him. Everything feels hazy, like he's hungover or high. The dim light makes it hard to focus. "where..?" He tries to bring a hand to his face, but his arms are heavy; no, not heavy, but tied down. When G looks down at himself, he's bound to the chair he's slumped in, arms and legs both. He pulls at them, but his strength, which he has relied on for so long, fails him, the ropes feeling as unyielding as stone or iron. Just as he thinks he ought to panic, gentle hands cup his face and make him look up.

Orbit smiles, wide and unsettling, the intensity of his gaze almost violating in its insistence to see everything G has to be seen. He looms over G, pressing a warm, invasive kiss to his frontal bone, then pulls back to grab something off a nearby table.

G looks around, frantic. He catches a little more of the room: bare walls; furniture that would look to be more at home in a sex dungeon; a small kitchen area with a fridge and sink; a large plush bed, decorated in rose petals, with Edge tied up in the middle. Edge is in a sheer robe, arms bound behind him, in nothing else but his favorite red stiletto boots. His ribcage expands and contracts in slow cycles, the same slow cycle that G could almost still feel in his arms from when they slept soundly at night, side by side. He's out cold (likely drugged, if G had to guess).

Orbit comes back. He wiggles a syringe at him, which he then proceeds to use on G despite his protests. "no- don't you dare-" G has no idea what's in that, but when Orbit shoves it into the joints of his knees and elbows, G starts to feel his limbs go numb, a little at a time.

Putting the first syringe back, Orbit picks up another. He looms over G again, and very slowly, like he is savoring the experience, lifts up G's sweater to expose his ribs and lumbar.

"don't touch me-" G tries to growl, but he's still loopy, and it almost comes out like begging. Orbit smiles wider right before he injects this new substance into G's lumbar, spreading a dull, throbbing heat through G's body that makes it harder to think.

Orbit puts the second needle away, this time returning with something entirely non-medical in nature. G doesn't understand at first why Orbit even has something that looks so much like a bullet vibrator, until his hand slides under G's clothes and strokes his spine just the way G likes. That slow-built heat goes right to G's pelvis, and his jeans are suddenly too tight. Orbit slides his hand lower, leaving the button of G's jeans alone in favor of the zipper, undoing it just enough to shove the vibe in before zipping him back up.

When the vibe turns on, G swears it's wedged in the worst place, pressed tight against his tender ecto so he feels every tremor whether he wants to or not. "too-!!" It's too tight, too much, and when Orbit strokes his spine again, he arches into it on reflex. Every part of G hates how damn smug the freak is over this, and he refuses to beg, even to make it end (one way or another).

Orbit gets his kicks petting on G, until he suddenly spins G's chair to make him face the bed. He sits on the edge of it, pulling Edge closer to stroke and toy with one of his booted feet.

"don't touch-" G attempts to snarl, trembling from his own arousal pressed against a glass ceiling. His limbs are partially numb and hard to move, and it is only now that he thinks about trying to use magic. It only makes him dizzy, none of his constructs coming at his call.

Orbit smiles, still lavishing Edge's boot with poisonous affection. He lifts it up to press kisses to, keeping eye contact as he starts at the toe and works his way up, up, until he is kissing bone. Edge makes a soft noise, flushing immediately at the bare contact. Orbit pulls Edge closer, dragging his pelvis into his lap. He's still watching G when he uses his hand to stroke and tease Edge's pubic symphysis, making every scar and crack light up like they're inlaid with sparkling rubies. The sheer material of Edge's robe only seems to make the light more dazzling.

The scent of sweetness, of strawberries and spring and safety, begins to fill the air. G is already struggling with his arousal, and that familiar musk does no favors to the cramped conditions in his pants or the aching need that fills them. G's hips buck as a strong jolt lances up his spine and makes his head spin more than it already was.

It doesn't take long for Edge's arousal to take shape. The ruby ecto stands at attention, and Orbit grasps it like it belongs to him. He strokes it with showmanship that G knows is entirely for his benefit, fingers spread so the lovely light shines out between them. Pale liquid magic beads at the tip like one more jewel, and G cannot look away. It grows until it overflows and cascades down to Orbit's fingers, where it is smeared and lost. Before the next bead can pool, Orbit uses his thumb to tease the tip, making Edge's whole body spasm in weak tremors.

Edge makes a louder noise. "NNGH..? WHA..?" He sounds as drugged up and confused as G was.

G wishes for once Edge wasn't so fucking hot. It was too distracting. "get away from..!" He tries, he does, but the vibrations in his pants suddenly get stronger and all G can think about is not crying from the frustration. Tears make his vision blurry, but he can still see it clearly when Orbit brings up his hand with a flourish, smiles wider yet, and brings his hand down swiftly to spank Edge's length. He can hear Edge moan just fine, too. Orbit does it again, making Edge cry out just a little louder. Orbit strokes what is no doubt a tender bruise, squeezing and kneading, before striking a third time.

Edge's climax is spectacular, his voice slurred, his back arched. The strawberry red splatters Orbit's face and shirt, something he seems rather pleased by as he licks what he can from his own face.

G feels himself whimper before he realizes the sound is coming from him.

Orbit licks his hand clean of Edge's juices, his expression like that of a cat who got the cream. He then signs to G, [YOU GET TO COME TOO. BUT ONLY TO REINFORCE HOW STAYING WITH ME IS A GOOD THING.] He then slips out from under Edge, pausing to lean down and give him a long, deep kiss. Then he walks over to his table that G can no longer see, no matter how he turns his head.

What G can see is Edge, looking exotic and beautiful and powerful and fucking sexy, even now, even like this. G's dick has a lot of opinions about Edge in pants, so he shouldn't be as surprised as he is that it has so many opinions about Edge without them.

G wants to come so fucking bad-

When Orbit is back in his field of view, he has a bone saw. It should say a lot about how very aroused and needy G is in that moment that the sight of a maniac with a bone saw does nothing to his libido. It's comical. It's humiliating. Maybe it is the drugs. Maybe it's just that G is just that inspired by the sight of his naked boyfriend gussied up in gossamer on a bed of rose petals. All G knows for sure is he has a pretty good idea what that bone saw is for and no idea at all what his dick has to do with it.

It's hard to think at all, actually. His body is hot and every coherent sentence he tries to form in his head is shattered by the irregular jolts of pleasure that spawn from the ache in his pants. His arms and legs are entirely numb by this point, so much so he can't even twitch a finger or curl his toes.

Orbit kneels between G's legs, still smiling that creepy, possessive smile of his. He unbuttons G's pants, and G groans in relief as his dick is finally allowed to be free. The vibe is taken away before he can climax, but any relief at all from the unrelenting stimulation is enough to make G sag. He lets his head roll back and his sockets close, basking in the tiny bit of relief he's been given.

It doesn't last long. Orbit grabs his simultaneously abused and neglected shaft and starts to stroke, using the same slow grind he'd done for Edge. G forces his head forward again, about to demand he get his filthy creep hands off him when G sees-

The bone saw is already being used. G can't feel a damn thing, didn't even notice the sound beyond the rushing in his skull, but the bone saw is halfway through his femur, just above the knee. "no-"

Orbit stops stroking just long enough to thumb at the tip, cutting G off and forcing a moan out of him. He starts again even faster than before, although the saw keeps a steady pace. G starts begging at this point, pleading. "no-" he doesn't wanna come to his leg being sawed off; he doesn't wanna come to Orbit's stupid creepy hand; he doesn't want anything this fucker does to feel good and he hates that it does, it feels so good, and he- he can't-

G comes, he comes harder than he ever has in his life, at the exact moment the saw hits the chair, cutting clean through his femur so his foreleg falls to the floor with a clatter-

And-

And G shoots upright in bed, drenched in sweat and clutching the sheets in what would be a white-knuckled grip for anyone with flesh to whiten. He's panting, shaking from anxiety and what he can feel between his legs to have been at least one really, really good, messy orgasm. His pajama pants are ruined and definitely need washing. When his addled senses finally let him know where he is (which happens to be in Edge's bedroom), he quickly feels for his legs, sagging in relief when they are both present and accounted for. He rolls over, burying his face in the pillows that Edge had definitely been sleeping in that night, and breathes, slow and even, while groping at the collar still wound around his arm.

His nightmares were getting worse since Orbit moved in. But this was the first time it was also a wet dream…

Looking at the clock, though, it's definitely weird how late he slept in...

Chapter Text

Reaper can't believe he had the nerve to ask for this. He also can't believe it's… fun.

Lust is sitting on the couch in front of the TV, watching one of his cartoons. They're in the Antivoid, but the giant tent they set up blocks out the worst of the endless nothing's white, giving the area a dim, cozy feeling of quiet. He has popcorn in his lap, and is completely relaxed. The popcorn looks tasty, but Reaper can't use his hands during this game.

Birds don't have hands, after all, hence Reaper's cuffed behind his back.

What birds do have are lovely wings to fluff and a voice with which to beg. Reaper lounges right behind Lust on the back of the couch, flexing the wings he had acquired by nature of his existence and crooning a low, soft little trill of inquiry. Lust looks up at Reaper, and his expression is completely absent of any derision or contempt. Just like when Reaper had brought up the game, Lust shows no sign of malice or disdain. There is only affection there, only fondness and indulgence, and it makes Reaper's ever-hungry soul feel a little warmer, a little full.

"what is it, baby?" Lust asks, cooing as he reaches up to cup Reaper's face and massage behind his jaw. "what do you want?"

Reaper is distracted by the affectionate contact. Say what you want about Lust, he is particularly good with his hands, and Reaper is not immune. He purrs, in absolute bliss, the popcorn unimportant with pets now involved. Lust's hand, however, smells of salt and butter, and when he makes to pull it away, Reaper is struck by the desire to put those condiment covered fingers in his mouth.

He's a bird. So he does. He grips Lust's thumb between his teeth and licks it clean, tasting the butter and salt and the warm buzz of Lust's heavy musk. Lust always tastes a little sweet, an earthy kind of sweet like one might get drunk on. Reaper switches to the next phalanx down the line, relieving that one too of any remnants of popcorn. He makes sure to sing sweetly in appreciation of his little treat.

The way Lust blushes is unexpectedly satisfying. The life in him seems to surge, as if contact with Reaper made him relish his life all the more. Reaper has the absent thought that this must be how Life feels all the time, so proud of making that fragile spark roar stronger in the darkness.

Lust holds his hand still, accommodating, until Reaper has licked it clean. Reaper appreciates it, and when he's done, he shows it by nuzzling back into Lust's palm, chirping.

"was that just you being helpful," Lust asks, his voice a tad rougher than usual, "or did you want some popcorn?"

Reaper chirps again, spreading his wings wide to assist him sliding down to the couch beside Lust. Once he is settled, he folds them neatly against his back again, looking at the popcorn, then Lust, offering that crooning trill in inquiry again.

Lust smiles all soft, coaxing Reaper closer. He picks up some popcorn, offering to feed Reaper by hand. Reaper is, of course, delighted that he's won, and enjoys taking what he wants. He makes sure to clean those pretty fingers every time, cooing over how very flustered it seems to make his boyfriend.

Or, is it, 'owner,' today? Semantics. He is a bird right now, so he has no need to worry about unimportant things like labels. Reaper just needs to worry about how he feels and what he wants and whether he is cared about.

It is at the start of Lust's next episode, after many offerings of popcorn, that Lust makes a move by himself. He gets up, looming over Reaper, and pets over his wings with gentle strokes. Reaper wants to flop down in bliss and let Lust groom him, but Lust keeps him upright when he tries, instead peppering his skull with little butterfly kisses as he smooths over his wings. "stay right here, i'm gonna get you a drink, okay?"

Reaper hadn't noticed he was thirsty until Lust said something. He feels full again, full and warm from the inside. Following another selfish compulsion, Reaper leans in close, tucking his face up under Lust's chin, and curls his wings around him to keep him there. Lust's arms circle his neck, a hand stroking over his skull, and although Reaper is bigger, like this he can feel small, protected, and safe. He breathes air that smells heavy of Lust's distinct musk, warmed by the life beating in his marrow.

They stay like that for too long and not long enough. Lust eventually wiggles free, going over to the table near the edge of the tent where some gallons of water were sitting. He uses one to pour water into a wide, shallow dish, and brings it back in hand. When he sits again, he settles the dish so it is balanced on his lap, his legs spread so there is space between them. "come drink, baby~" Lust says in that lilt that threatens to become something rougher.

Reaper still can't use his hands, and wings aren't useful for gripping things. He has to slide down to the floor, shimmy between Lust's splayed knees, and stick his face into the dish. He manages steps one and two without much issue, but kneeling there, he hesitates. Reaper has always had a certain level of dignity, and this would be going against that the most of anything they'd done. He isn't sure why it feels so significantly different than everything else he's done today, but it does, and Reaper looks up to Lust for… something. Maybe reassurance, maybe a reminder that he's in good hands.

Lust looks at Reaper like he's worthy of adoration. He cups Reaper's jaw and works tenderly at the joint. Reaper lets that hand work away his anxiety, crooning soft, singing a subvocal little song. Lust has no derision in him even now, only support, endless and unrelenting. Reaper feels small and supported and he follows that niggling impulse to press kisses into Lust's palm and wrist.

It's nice to be allowed impulsivity, freeing; Reaper doesn't get that in his day-to-day.

Reassured, and a little light-headed, Reaper shifts closer and finally takes his drink. The water is fresh and cool, quenching his thirst and soothing the heat that had built up in his face as if he has some kind of fever. When he pulls back, Lust sets the bowl aside and dries his face with a small towel, cradling his head like it's precious.

Lust's sockets shutter to half mast, his grin spreading wider. "i think it's time for my sweet little songbird to have a bath~"

Reaper feels that heat that had been building slowly spark to life, flooding his marrow at breakneck speed. The noise he makes next is rough, trembling in his ribs like it wants to shake them apart.

Lust leans down and, somehow, even without Reaper levitating, lifts him up into his arms. Lust is stronger than he looks, carrying Reaper like he weighs nothing. Reaper squawks in surprise, tucking as small and close as he can given the size difference, and lets himself be carried to the back of the tent. Lust takes him through a door flap, into another tent that houses a rather extravagant bathroom.

Lust whistles. "ink sure did a good job here…" Reaper chirps in agreement as he's set down on one of the benches. Lust strokes his cheek again, hand traveling down to unhook the pendant holding the neck of his robe in place. He sets it aside on one of the counters, then rubs at Reaper's shoulders as he kisses him like it's the only thing he ever wants to do.

Reaper feels light-headed, drunk on being touched and tended-to. He doesn't really notice the order of operations for the rest of what Lust does, only that those hands wander up and down and around, untying his long sleeves and his belt and somehow getting Reaper out of his robes entirely. The next time Reaper can think at all, he's naked save for the soft padded cuffs that keep his arms behind his back, and Lust's hands are kneading at the flares of his pelvis.

"you aren't all that dirty right now, are you, pet~?" Lust says like a threat. It makes Reaper's toes curl. That cadence reminds him of Error, if Error's voice could go down that smooth and lilting. The similarity does something for him. "maybe we should fix that, hmm~?"

Reaper nods, chirping an affirmative. He doesn't know exactly what Lust has planned but he is ready to play.

Lust rewards him with another kiss, then pulls back. "in the tub, baby. sit in the middle."

Reaper stands, fluffing his wings up for balance as he walks over to the large tub and climbs in. He kneels facing Lust, watching him expectantly to see what he will do next. Lust strips without fanfare, folding his and Reaper's clothes and piling them neatly for later, before coming over and getting in the tub too. A small flick of his wrist has his dick in hand, stroking it with a lazy eagerness.

"make something for me to play with, baby~" Lust demands.

The breathlessness that edges Lust's voice makes Reaper want to comply as much as anything else. He's new to making ecto (having never really needed it before dating Lust), so it is a struggle to make it work. It comes easier this time, fueled by the warmth still simmering in him. Reaper looks down to see his own dick, stiff and at rapt attention.

Lust smiles, kneeling down enough to grab at the tender shaft and stroke it lovingly, gentle and slow and almost ticklish if not for the trails of fire every motion leaves.

"i've got the prettiest little songbird in the whole multiverse…" Lust murmurs, looking Reaper dead in the eyes as he strokes them both, slow and teasing. "this is your favorite perch isn't it?" He presses his dick flush to Reaper's, gripping them both in one hand and squeezing hard enough that Reaper nearly buckles. "sing me a song, and i'll let you sit on it in the shower~"

Reaper hesitates again, that damned pride of his prickling. Lust guides his head down for a deep, slow kiss, filling his senses with warmth that turns to cotton in his skull and mist in his mind. They haven't even broken apart for air when Lust's hand begins to work on their shafts, stroking and squeezing until pleasure is milked from Reaper's magic. The moan that escapes him is caught in their kiss, and Lust drinks it in with a smile that Reaper can feel against his teeth.

When they part, Reaper sings, wordless and pure, trills that amount to begging if he cared to translate. Lust's whispered little praise of, "good boy~" goes right to his dick, making his hips stutter as if there is any escape he could want, any extra closeness he could achieve.

Reaper isn't looking at Lust anymore, his head thrown back and sockets shut as he is completely overwhelmed with the sensation of touch, but he can hear Lust's smile, smell his scent, his closeness.

"oh, does my sweet birdie like being told how good he is~?" Lust makes his hand work a bit faster, his other one sliding down to cup Reaper's bare sacrum and stroke over the foramen. "how well mannered? how handsome? how dutiful?"

Reaper's little song is broken up by meaningless moans and cries. He's close, but he wants to hear more.

Lust kisses over Reaper's sternum as his free hand slides down and hooks to tease at his asshole, probing with a finger to start stretching him open. The hand on their dicks doesn't let up, their combined pre making the friction slick and wet. Reaper feels like everything from the waist down is melting in pleasure.

"you're such a good boy," Lust coos, chuckling (no doubt at how Reaper's whole body shivered). "keep singing, baby. you're doing so good, just a little longer~"

Reaper tries, he does, but his voice keeps breaking, slurring and melting along with the rest of him. He's close, and Lust's praises and kisses and probing fingers only get him there faster. When he comes, it is long and messy, splattering himself in his own blues until he is dripping in his own arousal and release. When he can see again, when he is able to look down at himself, he can see purples mixed in the warm splatter on his ribs.

Lust is breathing heavy, trembling almost as much as Reaper is. He smiles, shaky, tremulous, smug. "g-good boy…." He pulls away, a bereavement of warmth and contact that Reaper mourns audibly. "shh…" Lust coos, coming closer once he stands up. He gives Reaper kisses and lets him lean against him, stroking his skull and shoulders. "lemme turn the water on. you did so good…"

Reaper feels vulnerable. When Lust moves, Reaper moves to keep close with him, following him to the shower valve. Lust turns on the water, which inadvertently sprays Reaper's wings with cold that makes him squawk and flinch away.

Lust giggles, and once the water warms, he sits down in the middle of the spray and pats his leg. His dick is still hard, glowing that soft purple hue that Reaper has come to love. "come here, baby. sit on your perch~"

Reaper shifts closer, shielding himself from the now-warm spray with his wings. He starts to straddle Lust while facing him, but Lust grips his hips and turns him so he is facing away. "sit here," he orders, and guides Reaper down to impale himself. It's a slow, careful process, Lust supporting him as he sinks lower, pausing when Reaper lets out a noise of discomfort. Reaper isn't used to being taken from behind, so he needs some time to adjust.

The fact that every inch he sinks down makes his own dick ache for attention doesn't help.

Reaper knows he's bottomed out when his pelvis is flush with Lust's behind him. The new, persistent pressure on a tender bundle of mana lines is another clue. He slumps forward, resting his head against the cool, wet floor of the tub. He spreads his wings out, hiding from the spray under them.

Lust's hands roam over Reaper's iliac crests, stroking over them as they follow the curvature. "such a pretty bird~" The praise reaches Reaper even through the sound of the shower. He trembles as it rocks through him, as his hips try to buck, as Lust's hands hold them still. "ah-ah-ah~ stay on your perch, baby~ that's a good boy~"

Reaper tries to relax, to go limp and lay still, but it is not so easy. He can feel Lust's girth in him, the heat of it, how it slickens. The steady pressure and light buzz of his magic against that tender bundle in him makes it hard to think, heat building and refilling him slowly. His toes curl from that alone, but Lust has more for him; his hands start to wander, reaching for his wings.

"soft~" Lust purrs, combing his fingers through Reaper's down. "lovely and soft~ look at you~ next time we should use a mirror, so you can enjoy this too~" He starts to claw softly, gently, at Reaper's precious feathers, smoothing them, preening him, inch by inch.

It feels good, a raw, visceral relief as Reaper is groomed in a way his body says he needs to be groomed, like he's scratching an itch, but it also fuels the heat in him, like having someone else touch his wings this way makes them suddenly, achingly sensitive and intimate, in direct communication with his dick. Lust gets a particularly itchy spot, removing a loose feather, and Reaper's hips buck. He whines pitifully, shamelessly, when Lust's hands stop their work to hold him still.

Lust's chuckle is deep, and dark, and makes Reaper want to curl up closer to him. "aw~ does this feel good, baby~?" One hand slides under Reaper to grab his aching length and tease it with torturous gentleness, touches so light they only serve to make Reaper want more. Reaper cries out louder, and he feels Lust tremble and throb inside him, the soft buzz of his magic growing stronger. "j-just be a little more patient, baby, then i'll have you dance for me~"

It feels good to know Lust is just as affected as Reaper is. Reaper trills an affirmative, trying to relax when he knows he can't.

Those talented hands resume their work, relentless. They work through the entirety of each wing, taking their sweet time to love on every single feather that Reaper has. Reaper has never been groomed by someone else before, but his suspicions turn out to be quite correct: he likes it, maybe even too much. He comes before Lust finishes, dizzy with it, drunk on it, the pleasure not explosive so much as inevitable.

Lust talks to him more. Reaper cannot understand what he says, his mind addled by the afterglow, but Lust's hands pulling him upright are indicative enough of what he wants. Reaper rights himself with Lust's help, letting those clever hands do to his ribs what they had already done to his wings. Reaper doesn't know when he starts to bounce up and down, but he notices the motion when a particularly hard landing punches even more pleasure out of him than he is expecting, and the moan that rises in his throat becomes a scream that cracks. Lust is still talking to him, and he thinks it's more of that filthy praise.

The last thing Reaper remembers is a final, soul-shaking orgasm. The next thing he knows, he is in a large bed, Lust sleeping soundly on his chest. Reaper's arms are unbound, and he takes advantage of that to hold him impossibly closer. It is too tempting to drift back off again into the sweet embrace of sleep when he is also in the arms of someone who can fill so much of his ever-hungry soul.

Chapter Text

Lust took one last deep breath before opening the door of the club. He's come back to Grillby's over and over, but it was always a rush to do it when he was flanked by the love of his life and the other, fightier love of his life. Usually, attending one of these events meant he would be indulging in his own exhibitionism with Dance, while Red enjoyed a few drinks and fluffed up as their big, impressive bodyguard.

Tonight, as they had discussed that morning, was gonna be a little different.

Lust gave a firm tug on the leash in his hand, just a little pressure to help Red make himself come through the door. He was dazed, looking around the dimly lit club like he wasn't sure what he was seeing, eyelight blown wide and soft in his good socket. He was high, incredibly high, the joint still between his handsome teeth. Red didn't smoke that often anymore, just on days his LV got out of hand and he needed the edges sanded down with chemical sandpaper. It was unfortunate that a bad day hit on top of their play day, but Red was a sweetheart, their sweetheart, and was trusting them with a bit of a different game.

Hence why Dance would be their spotter for the night, being more attuned, and Lust would be leading, being more experienced. Only the best for their dear Red.

"color?" Dance asked, coming in behind them. He'd lingered outside a minute longer, looking at some dingy black kidnapper van with tinted windows that Lust had already texted Grillby about (just in case).

Red blinked down at Dance, brow ridges scrunched in thought until he slurred out, "or'nge."

"good boy," Lust purred, pulling on the leash again as he stood up on his toes to take the joint and give Red a not-so-little kiss. The quivers of Red's stuttered purring traveled up Lust's arm from where he was braced against his sternum, the soft noise getting louder the longer Lust lingered to taste him. Red exhaled musky smoke that Lust happily breathed in, not minding a little hit for himself in the least.

They must have been at it for longer than Lust thought, since Dance nudged his side. "let's go sit."

Lust gave Red his smoke back, kissing Dance briefly before heading for the back corner of the room. Grillby came through again, reserving them a couch in the corner so Red could have his back against the wall. Lust snapped his fingers to get Red's attention, making sure he was focused on him. "sit down, sweetheart," he ordered.

Red stood there, blinking down at the couch, before slowly taking his seat. His reflexes were shot, and his balance was dubious at best. Lust was glad to finally have him sitting again, not the least because it meant that Lust could climb into his lap and kiss him more.

While Dance went to the bar to get them drinks, Lust kept Red as occupied as he could. He took a hit off the joint and shared it with him, loving how the smoke danced back out of Red's nasal aperture. The effect it had on the lighting that framed Red's handsome face was inspiring. It inspired Lust to kiss him again. The noises Red made were inspiring too, soft and raw and honest.

They made the beast in Lust want to be a bully.

Lust kept it to kisses and a few little indulgences of his hand under Red's shirt, grinding his palm into Red's lumbar while they waited. Red was pliant and accommodating, keeping his hands on Lust's hips and otherwise letting him do whatever he liked. Lust liked the shotgunning, but he also liked tugging on the leash to make Red blush, and he liked pulling Red's jersey aside with his teeth and licking at the indent of his own teeth marks still left in his clavicle, and he liked how Red's hips squirmed when Lust whispered, "love you~" words he had grown to love to say, and that Red very obviously loved to hear (and wasn't that combination a heady rush). Red's joints were flushed a crackling crimson by the time Dance returned.

Dance put their drinks down, then pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures of Lust and Red. Lust heard the clicking more than he saw it (being so busy with his mouth on Red), but the phone was still in Dance's hands when he looked up to greet him.

"how come you guys don’t do this at home too?" Dance asked, sitting down next to Red and grabbing one of his hands. He threaded their fingers together, demanding his share of the attention.

"probably because you're usually between us," Lust teased. "or pinning me down so I can't."

Dance grinned sharp and predatory, all confidence and smug pride. He pulled his hood up like that would hide anything, like anyone who looked at him wouldn't see how handsome and capable he was if he didn't make eye contact.

Reassured by Dance's attention, Lust turned back to Red. He took another deep breath, reminding himself that he could be a little self indulgent. He could ask for and take things. He could be a little bit of a bully, sometimes, because they would love him anyway. Dance was there to rein him in if he went too far.

"okay. red~" Lust lifted himself up on his knees, making room in Red's lap. If he tugged a little on the leash, it was just for a little incentive. "gimme your dick, please, sweetheart~"

Red was breathing heavy, and that didn't help his reflexes. When he finally put together what Lust wanted, he gripped Lust a bit harder and focused until he could manage to comply. Red had trouble with manifesting magic even when sober, so seeing him manage hands-free and high was an impressive feat. Lust thought it worthy of kisses and praises. The fact that those attentions made said dick stand ramrod straight and throb with electricity was a bonus.

Lust ground his hips into Red's shaft like he was working the pole again, tasting every whimper and feeling every spark and jolt of Red's magic.

"it's a little chilly in here, huh sweetheart," Lust purred, unbuttoning his pants. "let me keep you warm." It took very little effort on Lust's part to turn around and sink himself down onto Red. His sweetheart's magic crackled and buzzed inside him. It felt like applying aloe on a burn; like quenching one's thirst at high noon in the midst of summer; like warming one's toes after walking through the snow; like coming home. Lust was filled, and Lust was filled again, as Red's essence overtook him from the inside, wild and alive. He gave himself a moment to bask in it, to bask in Red holding and being held by him so fucking perfectly. He had the best seat in the house.

Lust tugged absently on the leash still connected to Red's collar, shivering as he felt Red throb inside him.

Dance settled between Lust's legs, smiling wickedly. He gripped Lust's dick, laving his tongue over the tip to clean away the pre that had started to make a mess. Lust braced himself on Dance's shoulder, letting out a moan at the dual sensation of Dance's magic and Red's raking through him at once. Red whimpered behind him, his hands squeezing at Lust's hips delightfully.

"color?" Dance asked again.

"orange," Lust responds immediately.

Red's response was delayed even more than before. "or'nge..."

Dance chucked, giving Lust a few tugs before putting his mouth back to work.

Lust leaned back into Red to catch his breath. He had plans for the night, damn it! He was gonna sit there on Red's dick and edge himself all night, thereby edging Red too. Then they were gonna go home and…

Well. Dance knew what to do when they were 'on edge.'

As Dance took Lust deeper down his throat, though, Lust stopped caring about his plans so much. Red's arms curled around him, clinging desperately as he was assaulted with all of their feedback. Lust put a hand on Dance's skull, sliding it down to tug gently at his collar and make the bell ring.

Red made such pretty noises when the bell rang.

It was almost a shame Lust couldn't keep his own voice down so he could hear it better, but the way Dance took him was too much. The way Red filled him with crackling chill and warmth was too much. Lust tensed, bracing for his peak-

Only for Dance to pull off, licking his teeth. "i'll get the cards," he said, voice a bit raw from abusing the mana lines in his throat. He got off his knees, kissed Lust, kissed Red, and went to pull the table closer.

Lust sagged back again, letting his heavy breathing slowly sync with Red's.

It was gonna be a long, delightful night.

Chapter Text

Red had no idea how long he'd been in that closet. He didn't trust his sense of time, given his circumstances: he was in nothing but his collar, soft padded leather handcuffs keeping his arms behind his back, and a pair of pink frilly panties; he didn't count the sounding rod in his dick, the bullet vibes on it, or the dildo in his ass as clothes. He had no idea how many orgasms he had missed out on, dissociating where he sat in the single beam of light from the glory hole, but he thought that they would have made up for the whole month of edging he'd endured prior to that night, and then some.

The light went out, and Red leaned forward to take the next dick into his mouth. His throat was raw, but the scent of sex was intoxicating, and even if it wasn't, he would have wanted to do a good job anyway. If he did a good job, his masters (his boyfriends) would be happy with him. He'd get praised! Fuck, just the thought of their praise was enough to get him off now-

The latest guest came down Red's throat, soaking him in their cum. He was already a mess from the ones before, so Red didn't really care, but the scent of it made his head spin. He considered tapping out with the panic button still in his hand, but he wanted to impress his datemates more...

It suddenly got brighter; the closet door opened, letting in too much light for Red to handle all at once.

"WHAT A LOVELY LITTLE MESS YOU HAVE BECOME," said a voice that made Red's soul flutter; Black didn't like messes, but he sounded pleased for once to have found one.

"READY TO GO HOME?" Blue asked, voice a little lower than normal, like he was struggling to keep up his usual composure.

Red felt a blanket thrown over him, and someone picked him up with little fanfare. Red still couldn't see, but the smell told him it was probably Black this time. Any anxiety Red might have had vanished, soothed by being in the arms of someone he trusted with his life. He didn't bother trying to open his sockets, preferring to let himself rest as he was carried out of the club.

"RED MAKES THE CUTEST FACES WHEN HE IS CUM DRUNK," Blue cooed, heralding a gentle hand stroking over Red's skull.

"AS HE SHOULD," Black agreed. "BUT HE'LL NEED A SPONGE BATH BEFORE WE CONTINUE."

"OBVIOUSLY. IT'S MY TURN TO WASH HIM!"

Red felt another orgasm fail, wringing an embarrassing whimper out of him. He wasn't sure where he was or who was around, other than Black and Blue. He didn't really care either, since that was the only information that honestly mattered. Red measured time by the moments between when he was picked up and put down again. There was more talking, more reassurances through the sound of his lovers' voices, more movement, but what mattered was that he was held, and carried, and then put down somewhere soft.

"STILL HAVING FUN, RED?" Black asked, unwrapping the blanket and exposing Red to cool air.

Red shivered, trying to pull himself together enough to respond coherently. If he couldn't respond, they might stop. "y-yeah…"

"GOOD BOY." Black purred, the pleased rumble so low and smooth it almost resonated with the dildo still going in Red.

Red felt a cool wetness dab at his chest, a wet cloth washing away the cum and sweat that had built up since starting their play. Blue's handiwork was different from Black's in a way Red could only say he knew when he felt it; not 'gentler' exactly, although if he had to put a word to it, that one would be as good as any. No amount of 'gentle' made it any less teasing when he cleaned over Red's scars, though. Every swipe had Red's whole body lighting up, his hips bucking uselessly into the air.

There was something painfully erotic about those deep chuckles, too.

"DOESN'T IT FEEL GOOD TO GET ALL CLEAN?" Blue asked with only the thinnest veneer of innocence. The hand that started to palm his dick through his panties was definitely Blue's too.

The hand that gripped Red's chin and tilted it up was Black's. "AS IF HE COULD DENY IT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE," Black scoffed, but the undercurrent of fondness made Red's soul tremble. Red finally tried to open his sockets, blinking against the light to try and look at what was going on. He saw Black first, looming over him, a freshly wetted cloth in his other hand as he brought it closer to Red's face. Red only had a moment before his face and neck were briskly, efficiently cleaned. Red figured out why Black was in a hurry when he leaned in to kiss him, domineering and possessive.

It felt good to be wanted like that sometimes, too.

Red lost track of time again, between the kisses and the washing that was just an excuse to tease him, inch by oversensitive inch. Black tugged on his collar, and Blue palmed at his dick, and before long, Red was crying through another aborted orgasm.

"NOW THAT YOU ARE ALL CLEAN~" Blue said, kissing on Red's freshly washed sternum, "How about a light snack before the next scene?"

Red was long past the point where his pride mattered more than his dick. "lemme- f-" He wasn't allowed to swear. He'd get bullied more if he swore now. That was a rule. "please, lemme come, lemme come, please, lemme-"

Blue shut him up with a kiss. Red felt his back arch and toes curl. He was a useless fucking mess, falling apart over a fucking smooch. He probably would have come for real just from that if not for the damn sounding rod. It said something that being bullied like this was doing it for him.

Red was so fucking lucky-

"Not yet, teddybear," Blue murmured, low and commanding. Red liked this side of him too, the one only he and Black got to see. "You can wait a little longer for us can't you?"

Red nodded frantically, uncertain if he could form words when all his magic seemed to be in his dick.

"Good boy." Blue gave him another kiss, then got up to fetch something.

Black took Blue's place in the meantime, nudging Red's legs apart with his boot and toeing at the base of his dick through his panties. "I SUPPOSE A GOOD LITTLE SLUT LIKE YOU IS NOT THE LEAST BIT EMBARRASSED TO BE THIS HARD AFTER A NIGHT OF BEING USED," he snickered. "NOT WHEN YOUR MASTER IS SO PLEASED WITH YOU."

Red thought that was big talk for the guy who was next in line to get bullied, but he didn't mind. He wasn't wrong. And fuck, he wanted stepped on just a little- "h-harder..!"

Black smirked, face flushed in that steely blue. He shifted until he was actually stepping on Red, putting the perfect amount of pressure down to drive him mad. "THIS IS ALL YOU GET UNTIL AFTER YOU EAT, PET."

"SAY AAHH~" Came Blue's voice from the side, returned with a bottle of mustard and a bottle of juice.

Red opened his mouth on command, although a rather loud, embarrassing moan escaped before the mustard was put between his teeth and he could start to drink. It tasted heavier, but the delicious, torturous sensation of Black's boot stepping on his aching dick distracted him from noticing anything amiss. The spice burned, and Red worried briefly if this was gonna pavlov him into getting horny off his favorite condiment.

That sounded like something Black would do.

Black pulled out the controller for the toys that had been on low for most of the night. With a grin, he pressed a button, turning up the intensity. Red thought he was going to lose his fucking mind. He felt yet another aborted orgasm, the feedback like lightning through every inch of his body. He was glad his mouth was full, because rule or no rule he definitely would have swore.

"HE'S SO CUTE WHEN HE CRIES." Black sounded a bit affected, voice rough in some places and breathy in others.

"Our sweet little teddybear is always cute," Blue purred, dragging the tips of his fingers over Red's clavicle. He then brought that hand up to wipe at one side of Red's face, smearing the warm wetness over his cheekbones.

Black put more pressure down on him, and Red honestly forgot how to pay attention to anything but his own pleasure. He couldn't parse much of what was being said, although when the mustard bottle was taken away, he had enough of his mind available to beg. Not enough to be sure of what he was saying, though that didn't matter: as long as they kept paying attention to him, any kind at all, Red would be happy.

More food was pressed to his teeth: slices of tomato, juice boxes, more mustard; Red didn't have the bandwidth to pay attention, just barely enough to put it in his mouth and swallow. Blue probably got him to eat and drink more than he realized, because when he again was able to think like a person, Blue was kissing his jaw and shoulder while he and Black kneaded at his bloated stomach. Red didn't even remember making a stomach.

Red's bones were on fire. Every little stroke and kiss and nibble made him feel like he could come, if only that damned sounding rod weren't in the way. The more aware he became, the more he realized how full he felt, between the dildo and something else. His panties were soaked in sweat and dribbles of pre that had somehow squeezed out around the sounding rod.

His lover's hands were growing gentler and gentler, as if to try and wind Red down rather than up. All those gentling pets really did was make Red's magic strain and burn for more attention. One of Black's sharper claws grazed down over Red's hips, teasing at the line where his panties still had his dick captive. Blue's other hand stroked over his skull, wiping some of his sweat away.

"p-please..!" Red managed to beg, trembling under the pressure of his lovers' sadistic, intoxicating smiles. They knew damn well what they were doing to him! They knew he liked it too. They knew what he needed, they just wanted to hear him say it: "more..!"

Chapter Text

Cash flips the page of his book, starting to wonder if reading was worth the effort of holding the book close enough to his face to see. He's a little bored, and his joints ache in a dull echo of the withdrawal he'd overcome years ago. That usually means it is time for a nap, if he can manage one.

A nap, however, isn't what Cash has in mind to kill his time.

Closing his book, Cash looks over at his latest little project: the bitty variant of his boss, given to him by Kink. Cash has never seen a bitty before, but he knows where to go for information and it wasn't long before he was deliciously informed about exactly what he had been given.

More importantly, though, Cash found after a bit of experimentation that, just like the life sized version, the bitty would shed a delicious condiment if treated right. Cash knows how valuable the stuff is, how delicious. What he doesn't deign to keep for himself can be used to barter. A little bit of cardboard, ducktape, and pipe-cleaner made for a cheap and easy do-it-yourself rig to hold the little thing in place over a jar, so the treat would drip down from its wings and gather neatly. A bullet vibe automated the whole process.

...Or so Cash had thought in the beginning.

The bitty is still pinned on its back, arms over its head and cuffed with copper. Cash used a bit of black cloth for a blindfold, which is still securely in place over its sockets. Pipe-cleaner hooks over its arms and spine, going through holes in the cardboard to twist securely together on the other side, pinning it in place stretched out over a hole in the cardboard. The jar is under the hole, catching the pink sugar that drips down from its trembling little wings. Its legs are pulled up, bent, and spread by more pipe-cleaner, and the bullet vibe is still buzzing quietly away against the soft ecto between its legs.

Its wings and joints are glowing and pink, just how Cash needs them to be. It has been an hour. Even so, the jar has hardly any of the precious substance at all, just enough to cover the bottom. Cash frowns at the lack of profit, tapping the glass with a finger. "this not doin' it fer ya, huh..." He thinks aloud.

The only response he gets is the bitty's heavy breathing.

Cash sighs, bringing his hand up to remove the little vibrating toy. He barely touches it, barely gets a grip on it, when the bitty lets out a noise that Cash can only interpret as that of prey. The vibe is still going against their ecto, no different than it was before, but all of a sudden its toes are curling, its legs are trembling, and Cash can see a little bit more of that pink honey drip down into the jar.

Cash feels his smile spread like a crack in the ice. "ah, that's it, ain't it?" He gently, lazily, rubs the vibe up and down his bitty, giving just that little bit of extra friction. "yer all sensitive ta intent, ain'tcha? need a personal touch ta get ya goin', yeah?" Watching the way sweat starts to build up, the way its magic brightens, the way it squirms like it isn't sure it wants to get closer or move away and yet is incapable of doing either-

Cash might be a bully. He might like being a bully. Maybe. A little.

This particular set up was a little too much work for his tastes, however. Cash pulled the vibe away, switching it off. "hold on right there, coin-purse," he says, not really sure if the bitty is paying him any attention, but enjoying the opportunity to talk to something he knows is real. "i'll be right back."

The bitty sags, breathing heavy through clenched teeth. Cash brushes his thumb over its flushed face, right under the blindfold, then pulls away to run his quick errand.

Cash isn't gone long. He knows exactly what he wants to streamline this process, and lucky for him, it is an easy thing to acquire if one knows where to look. It's a pricey investment, perhaps, but with Falsi's wallet in his pocket, that isn't an issue he has to worry about. He is back in 10 minutes, most of that having been spent in a tedious line waiting to pay.

The bitty is still right where he left it, and Cash feels that grin on his face again as he unpacks his latest acquisition. "i'm back, coin-purse," he all but purrs. "and I gotcha a real nice present." Cash holds up the electric toothbrush, thumbing at the bristles to check their softness. He's already put fresh batteries in, so he turns it on to test the speed and pressure. Not only is he pleased with the performance, but also the way his cute little bitty flinches at the new sound.

Cash turns the brush off and pulls the table closer to the couch so he can sit comfortably while giving his bitty attention. The action makes the rig shake a little, which the bitty is distressed by if the noise it makes is any indication. Cash pets over its skull with his thumb, shushing. "yer a'aight…" He watches in fascination as tension bleeds out of the bitty. He wonders if it's only because he stopped shaking the table, the reassurance, or the physical contact. It would be nice to know if the whole needing to be touched thing bled into its emotional well being…

A healthy, happy bitty is way more likely to produce, after all. It isn't like he actually cares…

Cash brings the toothbrush closer, closer, until the bristles graze over the bitty's sternum and ribs. He feels his soul flutter in glee at the little flinch that provokes, at the subtle squirming. His bitty is a quiet thing, now, but he thinks he can hear a low, soft voice carried on its panting. He knows he can for sure when those shredded bits of subvocalization get louder, something that happens as soon as he starts to move the brush back and forth, following the line of its sternum and teasing the bristles over the soft cartilage holding its ribcage together.

Under the rig, Cash hears a wet noise. When he looks, there is a thin, sticky stream of that pink sugar dripping down into the jar, filling it slow and steady. When Cash brings the brush down to go over the bitty's lumbar, that stream gets thicker. When he brings it lower still, sliding the bristles between his bitty's splayed legs and making little circles into its softness, a rather impressive glob falls. Cash rather likes how those pretty bones sparkle.

"soft, yeah?" Cash makes idle conversation like he isn't teasing his bitty for the fun of it. He brings the brush back up its body, smearing its arousal along its bones as he does. "bet'cha know what else it does…"

To Cash's delight, turning on the toothbrush gets even more of a reaction than he anticipated. His bitty lets out a loud cry, shocked by the sudden spike in stimulation, its whole body quivering with it. Another glob of pink sugar falls, the jar starting to fill in earnest with only a minimal bit of effort from Cash.

Just what he wants, just the way he likes it.

"there ya go, darlin'," Cash murmurs, moving the toothbrush back and forth in slow cycles over his bitty's ribs. "relax. enjoy yerself. yer doin' real good…" Cash means it; the jar is filling up steadily, the scent of that sweetness filling the air. It's intoxicating, so much so that he wonders if there might be a market for using it in aromatherapy candles. Folks are willing to pay out the nose for that kinda thing.

His bitty squirms, letting out another helpless little prey noise that makes something surge through Cash's marrow. It's so fun to bully, Cash isn't the least bit tempted to pick his book back up again. Instead, he uses his free hand to stroke its skull, along its arm, and scritch under its chin. He toys with its ribs a little longer before moving down to the lumbar. He lingers there, a thrill tingling up his own spine as he watches the bitty try and fail to arch its back into the gyrating bristles. Another large glob of pink sugar falls into the jar. It is half full now.

"good pet," Cash coos, wiping a bit of saliva from his bitty's teeth. Adorable. "yer almost done a'ready. just~ like that…" Being the selfish type, Cash wonders if the bitty's sweat tasted like sugar too. With his scientific background (however rusty, however unused), he concludes that the best way to be sure is to taste it. It isn't at all because he wants to make his bitty squirm even more that he promptly, languidly licks over its heaving ribs. The answer turns out to be 'yes,' for what it's worth.

His bitty lets out an even louder cry than before, and Cash hears a wet noise under the buzz of the toothbrush. When he looks, he finds that the jar is suddenly almost entirely full, the lip of the jar splattered like there had been an explosive mess. At the same time, the cardboard under and between his bitty's splayed legs is also now splashed in pink mess.

His magic trembling with the high of his accomplishment, Cash quickly changes the full jar for an empty one with the hand not still working the toothbrush. He's quick, so he doesn't spill more than a few drops of the sweet nectar. "how much more ya got in ya, pet?" Cash asks no one in particular. With the new jar in place and already filling up faster than the last one, he moves the toothbrush lower, lower, to slide between his bitty's trembling legs. It takes a bit of gentle digging before he knows he has found its clit, but the noises it makes and the way it moans tell him he finds it rather well.

Cash holds the toothbrush there, assaulting his already sobbing little pet mercilessly with what he is pretty sure is pleasure. The scent of sugar and flowers is so thick that Cash feels a contact high coming on. As he resumes petting its skull, Cash sees damp spots forming on the blindfold, streaks of wet seeping out from under it to slide down his bitty's face. Still selfish, Cash leans in to lick that away too, purring at the sweetness he has a taste for.

His bitty is too cute, after all. Not that Cash cares, or anything. He totally isn't attached. He totally doesn't wanna get a camera and record this for alone time.

A few minutes of this, of strategic licking and praise, of merciless stimulation and gentle coaxing, has the second jar filled and another orgasm ripped from his cute bitty's trembling body.

Cash finally pulls the toothbrush away, switching it off. He looks down on his pet, watching it gasp for air and cry. "good job, darlin'," he assures it how he can. He carefully puts a lid on each of the jars, setting them aside so he can more easily unhook his bitty from the rig. It takes a few minutes of twisting ties to pry his bitty loose from the cardboard, and when he does, the bitty immediately curls up into a trembling ball, hiding in his hand. Cash lets the little thing have a moment to breathe before he shifts his grip.

A little manhandling has his bitty held securely in one hand. The bitty's arms are pinned between two fingers, and a third finger slides between its legs for support. Cash can feel its poor abused ecto tremble against him, slick and warm and soft. He uses his other hand to gently pull one wing open as far as it will go, inspecting it. It is still very pink, dripping in sugar. Cash decides it is a good idea to clean it, and he decides the best way to do that is with his tongue.

When the bitty cries out again, Cash thinks he hears an attempt at articulation. "didja wanna say somethin'?" His bitty seems to try to say something, but Cash is impatient, so he resumes using his tongue to clean those cute little wings. All that comes out are moans and what might have been attempts at begging.

The more he licks, of course, the more mess there seems to be. Cash doesn't mind it so much,

"i ain't hurtin' ya, am i?" Cash thinks to ask at some point. When his bitty shakes its head, Cash doesn't give it any more thought, resuming what he has decided is going to be his standard evening snack.

He's always had quite the appetite, so it takes a while before Cash thinks to stop for the night. So long, in fact, that he feels like it is time for a nap. He gets up, carrying his little pink candy bitty in sticky fingers he has no drive to wash, and flops down into his bed supine. He tucks the bitty up against his chest, sliding its trembling body into his sleeve for warmth. The bitty curls up close, and based on its breathing alone, falls right to sleep.

Cash is the lazy sort by nature. He isn't far behind, having dreams of sugar and flowers and a soft weight in his hand that for once doesn't jingle.

Chapter Text

Lust tugged weakly at the handcuffs binding his wrists in front of him, his smile wide. If he smiled, maybe he wouldn't show how much discomfort he was in. "you guys sure you're cool with this?"

"it was my idea," Dance reminded him, gripping the handcuffs by the chain and tugging them up and behind Lust's head. He leaned in and stole a kiss, then another, his other hand squeezing at Lust's upper leg through the soft workout pants he liked to wear when they were home alone. Lust melted, a purr rumbling in his chest. Nothing made him feel safer or more loved than his datemates' hands on him, feeling them close, maybe tasting them a little.

Kisses. Kisses were wonderful. Kisses were the best medicine when he felt this awful. Kisses made everything better and he wanted to drown in them until he couldn't feel the hurt anymore.

"r-ready?" came Red's voice. When Dance pulled back, Lust could see Red standing in the bedroom doorway, a plate of finger foods in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.

"almost," Dance replied, his hand on Lust's leg sliding up to grip at his pubic symphysis through his pants.

Lust spread his legs wider, letting his mind shift into that state where he could take a backseat and let someone else take over. He tried to relax, to slow his breathing and only think about the hands on him.

"color?" Dance asked after a moment, using the flats of his palm to give Lust something to grind into.

"orange," Lust confirmed. His joints ached, his head hurt, and he felt a little nauseous. His flare-up would only get worse from here.

Red came and sat on Lust's other side on the bed, face flushed. His hands were steady, but Lust could see the way his one leg bounced after he sat down. "we gotcha, sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

Dance nibbled on Lust's shoulder, demanding his attention. "so summon for us, babe," he ordered. Lust focused on his hands, his teeth, on being touched and loved on. It made summoning and manifesting the ecto that they wanted a little easier. The weight of it settling on his body, a chubby midriff and soft hips that extend down to fill his pants out to the knee, was off-putting. He'd gained so much excess, losing his sleek chiseled form as more excess magic accumulated. It only made Lust feel more uncomfortably warm, more unsightly. He squirmed, an act that only seemed to make Dance more interested in groping and nibbling on him.

"good boi," Dance growled against Lust's skull. He gave Lust's thigh a passing squeeze before that hand came up to rub over his middle. Lust closed his sockets to feel it more clearly; Dance's hand lay flat against his ecto, making little circles over his curves. Sometimes he broke up the rhythm to make a wider circle, or to squeeze at him with gentle fingers. Lust had mixed feelings about it, about such excess on him being seen, never mind touched, with such-

Love. Fuck, he felt loved.

"c'mon, sweetheart," Red murmured, pressing a kiss to Lust's skull, letting Lust feel his smile flush to his temporal. The cool brush of Red's false tooth was heavenly. "eat a bit fer me?"

Lust opened his sockets, blinking at the little sandwich Red held up for him. Red was his namesake all over his face, like offering Lust a snack was the most intimate thing he had ever done. Lust made to bring his arms down and take it to eat himself, but Dance's grip wouldn't budge. Lust got the message, and opened his teeth to accept being fed.

The sandwich was delicious, just the way Lust liked it. He purred, eating it bit by bit until Red's claws were close enough to lick clean.

Red only seems to glow brighter. "y-yeah. that's it. 's good?" Like he didn't know his cooking was amazing and he always made the best snacks. Lust humored him, humming in affirmation while his tongue was busy getting the last crumbs off Red's fingertips. Red pulled his hand back, only to replace it with another sandwich for Lust to eat.

Dance rubbed at Lust's middle, kissing at the underside of his humerus. His breath was hot, ticklish, and the way he occasionally grazed his teeth over Lust's bones made it abundantly clear how eager he was, how patient he was trying to be.

Lust wished Dance would bite him again, maybe a little harder than those gentle shoulder nibbles.

Red offered more sandwiches. They were all rather delicious and filling, and Lust genuinely enjoyed how much Red liked feeding him. He thought about maybe asking him to do it outside of their play, since he liked it so much…

Lost in thought, Lust didn't notice the offering of the juice until the straw brushed against his teeth. He looked at the unassuming liquid, knowing what Red put in it. Taking a deep breath, Lust started to drink it down. He was already a little dizzy by the time he finished it.

Dance squeezed at Lust's thigh, teasingly close to his pelvis. "ready to lay down?"

Lust nodded, relaxing a little at a time. He started to lean back, trusting Dance to help him when he got light headed. Before he knew what was happening, Lust was on his back, head cradled by his favorite pillow, the room spinning, and the aches in his joints distant and dull compared to the heat in his pants. Dance's petting over his bare middle was hypnotic, soothing. When Red's hand joined in, icy by comparison, Lust couldn't hold back a moan.

"this is hot," Dance admitted, right before he leaned in to steal one more kiss.

"we gotcha," Red assured, dragging the tips of his claws over Lust's skull in lazy brushes.

Lust didn't doubt it. He was hot, and sore, and floaty, but the world was getting dimmer, darker, distant and calm. The only thing he held onto until his last moment of consciousness was the feeling of those hands holding him, safe and loved.


Dance would have known the moment Lust was asleep even if he couldn't feel the change himself, because Red sagged like a weight was lifted. Being attuned to the pain of the person you loved kinda sucked in the short term, no matter how useful it was. Dance lay down at Lust's side, nuzzling into him and catching his own breath.

They were gonna fuck that sick right out of him so that when Lust woke up, he wouldn't feel his legs. No bad hurt, only afterglow: that was the goal, and Dance was definitely going to reach it.

Resolute, Dance slid down and peeled Lust's pants off, tossing them to the floor to be dealt with later. Lust had apparently made a cute pussy that day, which was fine by Dance. He sat between Lust's legs and started to work him open, using his tongue on his clit and a finger for his ass.

Lust was like a fine vintage of wine, and Dance was ready to get wasted.

It only took a little attention to have Lust responsive. Dance added a second finger, pausing his work on Lust's nub to slide his tongue over his slit. Lust made a noise, soft and low and breathy, which went right through Dance's soul and down his spine to burn hot. He went back to teasing that clit, opening sockets he didn't remember closing to watch his datemates.

If Lust was a source of muted comfort and affection, Red was a damn beacon, a lighthouse, a foghorn. The idiot couldn't smile any wider if he cracked his face in half. His joints were all flushed, crimson sparkling from every crack as he kissed and nuzzled up and down Lust's skull, his jaw, down to the collar on his neck, back up again. The hand that wasn't cradling his skull was kneading at Lust's middle, always careful of his claws. He murmured against Lust's skull, so low and rough that Dance couldn't hear exactly what it was, but he suspected it was just the same sweet nothings that Red always liked to say to them.

Seeing Red show all that affection so freely made Dance's soul flutter.

Lust's legs began to tremble on either side of Dance. He added a third finger, speeding up the use of his tongue. Dance's magic had manifested by this point, his dick straining against his pants. He noticed Red's trembling, likely set off by the feedback as he was inundated with their arousal and love and want. Dance shifted to plunge his tongue into Lust, making their sleepy lover whimper and quiver. Not only did Lust taste amazing, thick and heady and like coming home, but Red flinched, ducking his head to hide in Lust's shoulder as he worked through the wave of sensation.

Dance loved doing that to them. A lot. He knew Red could feel it too. He pulled back, licking his teeth as clean of Lust's arousal as he could manage. "i think he's ready. can you pick him up?"

Red took a deep breath. "...yeah." He stayed right where he was for a moment longer, then two, before moving to scoop Lust up in a bridal carry. The way Red handled Lust just made Dance want to- to- to do a lot of things: kiss him; crawl into his arms himself; pin him against the headboard and bite his shoulder hard enough to leave a nice, long-lasting indentation; suck his dick. Dance held back, since today wasn't about bullying Red until he cried all nice.

Red sat with his back against the headboard, settling Lust in his lap. A bit of manhandling had Lust's legs on either side of Red's, his bound arms looped around Red's neck as he slumped face first against him. Red was careful to cradle Lust's skull so his neck would stay comfortable, eventually settling with it against his shoulder, tucked under Red's chin.

And that was Dance's cue. Eager, Dance reached under Lust to grope at Red's pelvis. It was unusual and yet convenient that Red's dick was already manifested, and Dance had no trouble pulling it free and stroking it with a hand slick with Lust's magic. Red bit back a groan he couldn't entirely repress, trembling.

"color?" Dance asked, just to be sure.

"orange," Red answered. Like he always did. He braced his grip on Lust's hips, pulling him up enough for Dance to line Red up properly.

Dance put his hand over one of Red's, and slowly guided Red to sink Lust down on him, careful, gentle, inch by inch. Lust let out a muted cry, but it was Red who Dance was watching. Dance knew damn well how much that filling Lust up affected him, could feel it in waves as Red was overcome by the experience. Red came before Lust was halfway down on him, and Dance used that to sink him down the rest of the way. Red clung to Lust as he rode out his high, pleasure and affection that Dance could taste in the back of his throat. It tasted like watermelon and wine.

Pleased at the state of his boyfriends, Dance finally pulled his own dick out and started to push into Lust from behind. Nothing ever quite compared to the warmth, the comfort, the sense of coming home, that sinking into Lust's magic evoked without fail. Dance didn't have enough fucks to give about the noises he made, thrusting his way deeper until he was flush against his lover's back, panting from the heat of his own want.

Needing leverage for their next activity, Dance found one of Red's hands. He pulled it up and pinned it back against the headboard, threading their fingers together. He reveled in the spark of something, soft and warm, that it triggered in Red, holding his hand and looking at him. Red Squeezed his hand back, gentle as ever.

The first thrust was amazing, dragging out a cry from Red as it pushed him over the edge into his own headspace. Greens and golds mingled in the new spectrum of color that Dance got to enjoy as he fucked up into Lust, setting a brutal pace. Each thrust made Lust bounce on Red, shaking their bed, wringing out wave after wave of good. Lust made soft little whimpers, clenching down as if begging even in his sleep for it not to end.

It was work, but in this, Dance refused to be lazy. He felt alive. He loved every moment he could make the ones he loved feel that way. He loved watching Red fall apart, torn to shreds by comfort. He loved how fucking cute Lust was, defenses down and finally relaxed after weeks of building tension. He loved how good it felt to breathe in safety and home as he made his boyfriends come on his dick.

By the time Dance's rather impressive stamina was expended, and he pulled away, Lust was bloated, full of blues and reds and greens that shimmered in his purples like they belonged there. Red's lap was a mess they could worry about later.

A bit of gentle coaxing had Red sliding down to lay on his side, and for once, Dance got to be the big spoon.

Chapter Text

Falsi doesn't remember when he fell asleep. The last thing he can recall is tearing up a little at the sight of his songbird's present. He is going to be a father! He-

Falsi can't see. He can't move either. He's on his front, suspended somehow given how he sways when he squirms. There is a weight on his back, but Falsi can't quite tell what it is: he thinks, based on the uncomfortable numbness still dragging at his ribs and spine, that he still has something in his system that dulls his senses. If he has to guess, he thinks it is his own pain killers, but he is still groggy enough that he isn't sure.

The longer Falsi hangs there, the more feeling that creeps back into his body. He's determined that his forearms are bound together behind him, and his legs are bent and spread, supporting him on something soft below. When Falsi tries to sit more upright, pressure on his neck keeps him from getting far, so he suspects there is a collar there that's chaining him down.

He also suspects there is something on his back. The more feeling Falsi gets back, the more that weight seems to insist on being noticed. There is some kind of tugging on his scapulae, an ache like a sore joint. As more feeling creeps in, the ache is accompanied by a heat that Falsi is unfortunately familiar with. It crawls from his scapulae down his spine to pool in his pelvis, a tingling ache that he can't soothe with his arms bound tight.

The quiet is becoming unnerving. Falsi can hear his own shaky breathing better than he ought to. He can hear the way his bones rattle. He can hear a creak whenever he tries to move. He feels the vulnerability of his body more acutely. He's naked, he's noticed, now, bare save from what keeps him immobile and blind. There is a comforting pine scent that keeps getting stronger as he waits. There is the scent of cut grass too, one that brings memories he would prefer had faded with the rest, memories of a job he had taken because, as detestable as it was, it was a mercy to do it himself.

The scents grow stronger. The darkness and the quiet press in. Falsi feels sweat bead and drip down his bones, feels a familiar itch build in familiar places as well as unfamiliar places all at once. He wonders how long he has been here, alone in the dark, stewing. He wonders what exactly he had been given to make his body crave touch immediately on regaining feeling at all.

What haunts Falsi, what nags at him with a sinking dread, is that he doesn't know what has happened to Hiphop. He hopes, oh how he hopes, that his beloved is well, but the not-knowing is the worst.

The sound that breaks the silence is reminiscent of a door creaking. Falsi flinches at how loud it is compared to the safe quiet. He feels waves of calm and joy wash over him, and a dread he had been suppressing with everything he had swells to the forefront. Falsi knows, roughly, what has happened to him, who did it, and who it is that is closing the door shut behind them.

"Dear doctor," Dream's voice curls through the air like grasping fingers, hooking Falsi's attention with the same suddenness as gunfire. The aching burn in his pelvis flares unbidden, a reflex that Falsi can never seem to suppress. "Are you comfortable?"

Falsi knows better than to refrain from an answer. His voice stays frozen in his throat, uncertain of what the correct answer happens to be this time. "...As- As much as can be expected…?" Perhaps a non-answer is the best way to go.

"That is good to hear." Dream sounds like he means it, sounds like he is getting closer. "Are you in any pain?"

Of course Falsi is in pain. He's in anguish. His soul feels like it is breaking every time he hears Dream say his name, every time he holds Hiphop's hand and wonders if it will be the last he is allowed the privilege. He hurts wondering at what could have been, if only, if only- But that is not what Dream is asking. That is never what Dream is asking. "My… my back…" Falsi admits, knowing a lie would be seen through effortlessly.

The quiet settles again. Falsi strains to hear what is going on around him, but Dream moves, as usual, like he is made of something other, something that defies even his senses to perceive. When Falsi finally feels a gentle pressure on his shoulder, he flinches from surprise alone. His joints are unusually tender, feverish, and Dream's hand is like a balm. It traces around where his back aches, barely grazing the tender edges of his scapulae, before circling to lay against the spines between them.

When Dream digs his fingertips in between one vertebrae and another, when he drags lightly to scritch at the building heat there, Falsi cannot hold back a long, low noise he would prefer not to describe. That throbbing want shoots down his spine to pool, heavy and wet, in Falsi's pelvic inlet. It also, oddly enough, shoots up, somewhere Falsi can only recognize as his back, but feels different.

What- What did he do to him? What did Dream do to him?!

A tendril teases at Falsi's pelvis, stirring and exciting the magic there. Falsi tries not to acknowledge it, but Dream is, as always, persistent and persuasive. Many tiny, wet, slippery threads of Dream's magic invade Falsi's sacrum foramen, thrusting and grinding incessantly, and from each one comes a stream of electricity, which he is only permitted to interpret as pleasure. His hips buck and squirm as his legs shake uselessly, his magic straining against the invasive tendrils, straining to find room to manifest into something more solid and gratifying.

Something warm and wet and sticky drips down onto Falsi's arms, ribs, and spine. That pine smell grows stronger, mingling with something sugary-sweet and tempting.

"How beautiful this picture is," Dream whispers against Falsi's skull. "Your straining form, painted in such lovely colors, posed just for me to see, to touch, to… taste…" He punctuates that last word with a pointed thrust of his tendrils, and when that punches a cry from Falsi, he steals it away with a kiss that makes the ache in Falsi's soul throb and bruise.

The heat and desperation that builds at Falsi's pubic symphysis is echoed perfectly on his back, in his back, somewhere he is starting to think is new and he shouldn't have. The urgency of knowing what the hell Dream did to him is overtaken, however, by the urgency of his need for satisfaction. The heat of building pleasure is blinding, the edge on which he is balanced, torturous. His pride hinders his ability to simply ask for relief, and his reason refutes the effectiveness of doing so. Dream has always been a bit of a sadist; begging might only encourage him to drag it out longer.

The little voice in Falsi's head that says he likes it sounds like his own voice.

"Where do you want touched the most, Falsi?" Dream asks all soft, all fond, how Falsi longs to be asked everything ever asked of him.

He knows it is a trick question, but Falsi also knows that he has to give some answer. "My-" He has to fight to keep from begging- "If you would give me the space for my dick..?"

The tendrils currently inhibiting him pointedly increase their activities, wrenching out a swear from between Falsi's teeth. Dream strokes down his spine with a twisted sort of possessiveness, a covetousness that Falsi both shudders under and basks in all at once. "I suppose you do not know the answer yet," he muses, knowing and glee coloring his tone. It sets off warning bells in Falsi's soul.

Falsi is starting to think himself mad. His back is on fire, it itches, it throbs, it is soaked in something very wet. He rocks into those tentacles without shame. He knows something has been done to him and he cannot stand the not-knowing anymore. "What- What did you-"

Dream's other hand crawls down from Falsi's shoulder to his scapulae, then… lingers on them, yet goes up, and up, and up. He touches a part of Falsi that Falsi distinctly does not remember having, being neither arm nor leg, nor his back, and yet a part of his back. That hand runs the length of this new part of him, sending delightful, agonizing sparks of pleasure coursing through the new limb, which feed right back into his soul on a direct line. Falsi has always been sensitive, but the extent of his sensitivity has never been as strong as it is there, where Dream's hand lingers as if to bask.

"Removing my darling brother's wings was such a waste," Dream muses, kneading at a tender place that Falsi feels twitch on reflex, straining against another bit of binding he has only just noticed. "I was so happy to have finally thought of something to do with their remains."

A cold dread seeps through Falsi's soul, one that grates uncomfortably against the layer of calm and happiness he knows it not real. He is trembling, though he could not say if it was from anguish or the rising pleasure overflowing from his brand new limbs. His bones are soaked and sticky, and Falsi suspects he now knows with what.

"It seemed so unfair that you would get to be a sire, and not I," Dream continues, combing his fingers through Falsi's fresh, budding feathers.

Having an idea of exactly what he is feeling gives Falsi even more heightened awareness of what is being done to him. He can feel every twitch and tug of every feather, each little micro motion sending jolts of pleasure though his limb. The numbness is almost completely faded, and with it any shield from Dream's teasing. Falsi thinks he is going mad, he thinks he can come just from this, dick or no dick, and he is terrified of what it will mean when he cannot hold it back any longer.

"Truly," Dream continues, bringing his other hand up to grope at Falsi's other tender, sensitive, vulnerable wing, "It is wonderful that this last month of careful tending will finally bear fruit~"

Falsi only has a brief, terrifying moment to process what that meant (how much time he has lost, what could have happened to Hiphop, what was done to him, to the both of them) before he is sent careening over the edge of ecstasy. His whole body locks up with it, and Falsi feels pressure release from his back- his wings. A gush of moisture explodes from them, splattering him. One of Dream's hands retracts, and a moment later Falsi hears a low, throaty groan that only stokes a new heat in his already blistering marrow.

"Like this… soaked in your pleasure…" Dream sounds breathless now, sporting a rhythmic tremor that Falsi hopes and dreads the meaning of. "It will be all too easy to give my seed to you… All too easy for yours and mine to mingle until you flower so beautifully…"

Seed. Flower. Dream is going to breed him-! "Dream-" Falsi tries to protest, but the tendrils, which had never left his pelvis, again resume their teasing, rendering his voice unreliable.

"Dearest doctor..!" Dream groans. A wet noise heralds a terrible, wondrous wet heat splattering over Falsi's wings. As sensitive as he is, Falsi can tell the difference in the dampness immediately. The scent of apples mingles with that of pine. The feeling of it, seeping into someplace Falsi cannot identify other than that it is terribly intimate, almost makes him come again.

Falsi had no idea how intimate such appendages truly were. It compounds his regret. It compounds his decision that he could have allowed no one else in that house to have done it.

Surely, it is over. Falsi tries to relax, to calm himself, to adjust to the new sensation of having the wings that he had always wanted. He is not given that luxury for long, as one by one, the tender, vulnerable spots all along his wings are invaded by probing, slick tendrils. It almost feels like sounding, if sounding brought the same pleasure as friction to his dick, like a slick tongue lavishing worship. It almost feels like sounding, if there were dozens and dozens of openings to be obstructed and teased and violated.

Dream shushes Falsi with a gentle pet to his skull, slick sticky fingers smearing what Falsi is rather confident is his own arousal over his bones. "Relax, my dear one. I will not rest until you flower. You will be radiant as spring incarnate."

Falsi sucks in a breath which is knocked out again when those invasive tendrils shove liquid heat and electric pleasure into him from all angles. It is overwhelming, and Falsi quickly loses his ephemeral grasp on the present. Perhaps, when next he can know himself, he will get to see his wings for himself instead of the torturous, welcoming dark.

Chapter Text

Reaper knelt in front of the mirror, flushed as much from his own outrage as the arousal that had been plaguing him ever since Dream's little 'gift.' He was stripped bare by his own hand, bones quivering in the chill of the room. Like that, he could see the golden tendrils through his translucent blue ecto, see where they connected like a part of him, growing out through his slit to tease him mercilessly. His clit was constantly on fire, electrified, and he felt full even when the other wasn't also abusing his ass. He was dripping, making a mess of his summoned thighs that he had taken to keeping around for just that extra bit of buffer.

Even Reaper thought he looked debauched. He wouldn't have minded if it was because of someone he loved. Instead, it was because of Dream.

"h-happy?" Reaper spat, looking at the asshole in the mirror's reflection.

Dream sat in a chair, legs crossed. That irritating, terrifying smile was stretched wide. "I am very pleased. You look lovely like this, Reapsy~"

Reaper hated how that nickname, one which his own beloved glitch called him, sounded in that fucker's mouth. He grit his teeth. "quit gawking and- and take them out already..!" Reaper couldn't get close to his Geno with those stupid tendrils teasing him so much. He couldn't let Geno know what had happened to him.

A sudden jolt of pleasure made Reaper's vision white out. He had to brace himself on the cold glass of the mirror. It felt odd under his hand, like he was touching a blindspot (as strange as that sensation was to describe; Reaper couldn't think of a better way to articulate it). When he could see again, Dream was closer, just short of touching him. The suddenness of his proximity almost made Reaper scream.

"Do not forget who is the one in charge, my darling," Dream said in a way that might have been kind if it wasn't a warning. "But you have been away so long, I am not surprised you have forgotten who your god is."

Reaper wanted to remind Dream that he was the god in the room, not Dream, but he doubted if that argument even held water. A rose by any other name, and all that. Anything that could survive Reaper's death touch was effectively a deity. It was just a cosmic joke that one such person happened to be Dream. Even while thinking all of that, though, the tendrils that Dream put in him were driving him mad, edging him over and over until the frustration bled out of him as tears.

"m-make it stop-!!" Reaper had reached his limit before he came here- reaching his limit was why he came here. Being teased and edged even more, after months of it, was just- just too much!

"Make what stop?" Dream asked, like he didn't know. "Be specific, Reapsy. What am I doing that you want to stop?"

"stop th-the tentacles..!"

"Stop them from what? What are they doing?"

Said tentacles had yet to stop. Reaper's hips were moving on their own, uselessly. He clawed at the mirror, knowing if he tried to use his hands to finish it would only make it worse. "they're teasing me..!"

Dream's reflection smiled wickedly over Reaper's shoulder. The man himself stood behind Reaper, gripping his hips and pawing at him, encouraging him to stay still. "They're making you feel good?" Dream murmured. Reaper could feel something thick and hot rubbing against his ass. When that hot thing slid between his thighs, he could see it in the mirror: Dream's dick, slobbering all over him, slick with both of their arousal by this point. "Say it clearly, now: they make you feel good?"

Reaper trembled. His tears slid down his face. "they… they're making me feel good…" he said softly, hating how desperate he was.

"And you don't want to feel good? Or is it…" Dream started to lazily fuck Reaper's legs, giving himself friction that Reaper was denied. "Or is it, perhaps, that it is too good? Do you simply wish to come?"

"i-" Whatever Reaper was going to say was erased from his mind with another shock of pleasure, pleasure that took him nowhere, leaving him hanging in wet, trembling anguish. A sob was wrenched out of him. "i wanna come..!" Fuck, he did! He wanted to come so fucking badly. His pride ached like nothing else, saying those words that he hadn't even allowed himself to think before. He couldn't stop squirming. "i wanna come..!!!"

Dream's thrusting between his thighs sped up. "You're so cute like this, Reapsy," He groaned, low and soft like a whispered song. "Tell me. Tell me how badly you want me to make you come. Beg properly, my sweet star~" The tendrils started to assault Reaper in earnest, ass, clit, and also his inner walls.

Reaper was at his limit. He just wanted relief. "i wanna come. please- p-please let me come. make me come, i can't stand it anymore..! i wanna come so bad! please-" He didn't know half of what he was even saying at this point. His voice was slurred, making some of it hard to even understand.

Dream's hips stuttered, and he came all over Reaper's legs. "You do not care how I make you come, is that right?"

"please-"

Dream pulled back, stepping out of Reaper's line of sight, before coming back with a cushion. "Move aside, Reapsy~ I want you to sit on this cushion in front of the mirror."

Reaper's body was less than obedient, but somehow, he managed to drag himself out of the way long enough for Dream to set the cushion down. He followed Dream's instructions, sitting down with his legs spread in front of the mirror. He could see his soaked folds stuffed with tendrils far too clearly in the mirror's reflection. His tear-stained face painted quite the picture of how fucking desperate and needy he was. It was humiliating.

Dream stood behind him, hands on Reaper's shoulders as tendrils coiled menacingly over Reaper's limbs. His legs were spread a bit wider, his arms were pinned and secured behind his back. A few tendrils started to tease his ribs, making him squirm even more. "please-"

"Yes, my dear starlight," Dream purred. "I will make you come. Say thank you."

Reaper gulped. He didn't want to thank this fucker for anything. This was his fault. He was the worst. And yet- "thank you..." he simpered. He was beyond caring.

Dream grinned wider, wings fluffing up in his reflection. A large, long tendril curled itself around Reaper, circling until it was in front of him. Reaper didn't pay it much mind until it started to probe at his slit. He squirmed more, wanting it by now, begging under his breath to "please-" It entered him, slow, hardly making any friction with all the slick, but with the other tendrils still in there it was a tight fit, stretching him wider. Either Reaper had a kink for being stuffed that he hadn't known about, or he was so fucking desperate that anything was toe-curling by now. Or, perhaps, that fucker had been doing something to him that made it feel good, which was on brand for Dream. It only became mildly uncomfortable when that new tentacle started pushing on the very back of Reaper's ecto, trying to move up into a space he hadn't manifested.

"stop-" Reaper tried to demand, struggling. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to stop, just that pushing there felt invasive. The tendrils on Reaper's ribs and clit picked up the pace, distracting him with pleasure that wouldn't get him anywhere as intent that Reaper couldn't interpret coaxed his ecto to form his midriff. The larger tendril breached a barrier with a pop that Reaper could feel inside him, and it almost made him come.

A lot of things almost made him come lately. That was the fucking problem-

"I want to test something," Dream said, kneading at Reaper's shoulders like he wasn't also pawing ruthlessly at the rest of his body, inside and out. "If you help me with it, I'll let you come." Reaper found himself nodding rather urgently in response. "Good boy~"

Dream held Reaper's chin up, making him watch himself in the mirror. Reaper saw how very full his dripping cunt was, gold and blue mixing for an almost pretty shade of green. He was starting to hate the color green. He was worried he would develop a kink for it (which would suck). As he watched, a large knot traveled down the larger tendril, glowing brightly. It made its way closer and closer to Reaper, until it started to travel up into him. The squeeze was tight, making it hard to think about much else beyond the heat it generated in passing. It traveled up, up, until it was in the space of Reaper's midriff and deposited there. Reaper blinked at the image of him, with a little sphere of gold in his middle, struggling to really piece together what was happening. Another knot-orb came through, and this time the almost-uncomfortable squeeze was just pressure and pleasure that Reaper didn't know how to handle. He strained against the many tendrils holding him still, strained against the hand making him watch. His toes curled and his back arched and his soul swelled with the feeling of being so fucking full-

It didn't stop. Knot after knot, orb after orb, stuffing Reaper one by one, one after the other, sometimes in quick succession. It reached the point that it was a continuous line, like pearl beads the size of eggs shoved into him, never to come out again. Reaper's vision blurred from the next wave of overstimulated tears.

"Does this feel good?" Dream asked, pressing possessive little kisses to Reaper's temporal. "Does my Reapsy like being full of my seed?" He toyed absently with Reaper's neck, staring into the mirror with an intensity that would have had Reaper trembling regardless. "Be honest, now."

Reaper wanted to snarl at him that he was making him like it, but he knew, he knew that he wasn't in any position to do so. He was still being edged, still aching, still out of his mind with need for release. "mercy," Reaper begged. "please, mercy-"

"Do you like it?" Dream asked again, firmer.

"yes!" Reaper sounded pathetic. He was supposed to be the noble and uncompromising god of death. He was pathetic. "yes, i- i like it..! mercy!"

"Louder." The command was followed by the sudden loss of stimulation from every other source except the tendril still pushing seeds into him.

Reaper whimpered, even more embarrassed by the fact that he was getting off to being filled all by itself. "i l-like it..!"

"What a good boy, you are~" And Reaper hated how that stupid praise made his head spin. More and more egg-seeds were stuffed into him, faster, faster, the pressure of it overwhelming. "Come, then. Find your ecstasy in this pleasure. Come on my seed."

The worst part was that he did, he did come. Some event horizon was reached, and the next seed-egg that breached his soaked folds shoved him over that month-long ledge into the hardest orgasm of his life. Reaper saw stars, he saw so many stars as pleasure lanced through him, making him scream with it until the darkness swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

A rather ruined, exhausted, and very full Reaper was carried to the bed opposite the mirror. He was tied to the headboard by a length of chain that connected to a collar placed around his throat. Dream took his time giving him a sponge bath, stroking over the swell of his stomach where countless seeds had been summarily placed, glowing with life.

Smiling, Dream finally turned to the full length mirror, walking over calmly. He stroked the outer glass, wiping a bit of cum away that had been splattered, before grasping at the edge and pulling it open like a door. Because it was a door. Dream leaned in the doorframe, looming like a tiny golden demon welcoming the newest damned soul to hell. "How did you enjoy the show, Geno?"

Geno had seen everything. The mirror was two-way, and had let in the only light in the otherwise bare and tiny closet. From where Geno was strapped to a chair, naked save for his scarf, arms tied to the chair arms, and legs tied to the chair legs, he had had little alternative but to watch what Dream had done to his boyfriend. His vision had blurred a bit at times from his tears (sorrow, frustration, and blinding fury seemed to do that to him), but even then, he had heard everything without obstruction as well. Sound seemed to travel perfectly.

Geno would have screamed if not for the gag, and Dream's subtle threat of what would happen if he made noise.

Dream closed the door behind him, coming closer. He brought an inspecting hand between Geno's splayed legs, grasping at the shaft of his dick, which had gotten hard despite everything. Reaper was Geno's weakness in that respect. He just wished his dick paid attention to circumstances.

Geno wondered if Dream had done something, but he didn't have any proof. What he had was a warm, slick hand grinding into his arousal like it was trying to squeeze something out of him. Geno trembled, wishing he could dispel the construct, close his legs, or at least stop feeling good from it. He tried to growl around his gag.

"I know," Dream purred, squeezing. "I know exactly how much you enjoyed it."

Fucker. Geno was going to slug him the first chance he got, whenever that was.

"As you saw, Reapsy is mine," Dream continued as he stroked Geno, over and over, bringing him closer to a peak he didn't want. His hand buzzed with a possessive affection, and Geno hated the fact that he responded to it so readily. "And that makes you mine too, doesn't it?"

Geno didn't understand the logic behind that at all. His toes were curling as heat flooded his marrow. Pleasure crawled up his spine a little at a time no matter how he tried to push it down. He struggled against his bindings, against Dream's stimulation, but it was a losing battle. He was-

Dream stopped, pulling his hand away. "So eager~" The smugness curled in his voice like a physical thing, sliding against Geno's pride and grating. "But not yet. I wish for this, our first time, to be memorable..."

Geno didn't know how much more 'memorable' he could make it. He tried to tell him off through the gag again, but the sound was garbled nonsense. Dream kissed his skull (softly, sweetly, a poisonous affection that confused Geno's soul further), then circled around him.

Geno didn't know what was behind him. He heard the soft hiss like a door opening, the clatter of something solid rattling, then the hiss again. Dream walked back around, carrying a large bucket of ice which he set on the floor by Geno's feet.

"I have always disliked the cold," Dream admitted unbidden. "But I may grow a fondness for it in moderation, after today." he picked up one of the icecubes, turning it in his hand, before sliding it in a long, slow line down Geno's dick, tip to base.

The shock of that cold against Geno's heated pseudoflesh lit up Geno's entire body, rocking his soul. He yelped, trying to flinch away but having nowhere to go. Dream gripped him firmly with his other hand, stroking in earnest, while he brought the ice down again, circling the tip of Geno's dick in slow, dragging, icy spirals. Geno thrashed uselessly, torn between the shock and the pleasure, bounced back and forth until he was shoved over the edge and came, heat and cold melding into pleasure that overwhelmed him.

Dream chuckled. He wasn't stopping the handjob, but Geno felt a slick prod at his asshole too. "The chill of death is nothing compared to this, so it much be a pleasant crispness..." What Geno eventually identified as one of Dream's stupid tendrils pushed into him, squirming and spreading him open bit by bit. "You must yearn for it..." He shifted his grip on Geno so he could rub that melting icecube up and down the underside of his shaft.

Geno felt saliva drip down from his gag, joining the tear tracks. He had only just come, but the tendril in his ass was revving him up again already, sparks of heat and pleasure lancing through him like lightning. He felt like his whole body was burning up. It was too hot, too much, he could barely think.

The tendril abruptly retracted itself, as did Dream's hands. Geno was given a short reprieve, allowing him to collect his thoughts. He blinked overstimulated tears away and looked down. Dream was smiling at him, watching him. Maintaining eye contact, Dream reached into the bucket and pulled out a dildo. If it had been a normal dildo, sitting in ice for only fuck knew how long, that would have been alarming enough, but it was a dildo made out of ice. The cold air around it refracted the light from Dream's wings, and it shimmered wetly as the heat of his hand already started it melting.

Geno didn't even realize he was making any noise, garbled begging, until Dream shushed him. "You will enjoy this," Dream promised, thumbing at the tip of the dildo. The ice melted, water dribbling down the sides like pre.

Dream smiled, then started to ease the ice dildo into Geno's flushed, overheated ass. Geno screamed. It was so cold it almost hurt, and at the same time felt like a balm. He thrashed, naturally trying to escape, but his struggles were as futile as ever. The dildo slid in smoothly, melting bit by bit as it went into him, filling him with cold and heat all at once. It hurts, and yet feels-

It feels-

"You like this, do you not?" Dream sounded particularly smug as he started to thrust, slow and smooth and unhurried. "I think you like a little discomfort with your pleasure. Masochism, is it?"

Geno squirmed, preferring not to confirm that to someone like Dream. That was none of his fucking business- it was so cold! It was cold and it was mixing with the heat and- the dildo jabbed at just the right spot, and Geno arched his back so hard it almost hurt. It hit the same spot, again, and again, the cold impact sending electric jolts of pleasure through his whole body, stoking the flame in his marrow until he came again. He felt so many conflicting things he was going numb. He was going dizzy. His vision was going dark.

"What a lovely face you make," Dream's voice seemed to echo, the last thing Geno heard. "I think... I will enjoy seeing it more."

Chapter Text

Dust expects to be thrown to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He's already tied up like one, arms strapped behind his back and ankles tangled together. The rope is soft, which surprises him since it's rope from their own castle. It smells almost floral, which he catches from the loop around his neck keeping him from doing the tuck-and-roll trick to get his arms in front of him.

"SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A DUNGEON?" Blueberry asks, looking around the basement area (something Dust knows because he feels the little shit's skull pivot side-to-side against his hip).

"I dunno," Ink admits. Dust believes him: the guy has more holes in his memory than Horror.

"Since I was... 16, I believe..?" Dream seems to give the question some thought. "It may not be even that old... I know it was something I had encouraged..."

"IS THIS CELL OKAY, DUST?" Blue asks as he gently shifts Dust off his shoulder and onto a rather soft bed.

Dust really is surprised he wasn't just dropped anywhere. When he cracks an eye socket open to look around, he sees that their idea of a dungeon doesn't match his in the least. It's white, white, and more white, with a small, plush bed, a few chairs, and a TV screen in the wall. Dust isn't particularly fond of the endless whiteness, but it's not as bad as the dungeon he is used to, with its endless dark and sense of inhospitality.

Dust doesn't answer the little blueberry. He instead looks up at the wraith of his brother, which hovers just overhead. Dust seems to still have a concussion, because his expression flickers between a warm smile and a disappointed scowl. Dust knows which one is probably more accurate by now: he forfeited his warm-smile card a long time ago.

"...WELL, I HOPE IT ISN'T NOT OKAY, SINCE YOU HAVE TO STAY HERE FOR A WHILE."

"...And I'll just leave you guys to watching him-" Ink says, before bolting for the stairs. "Bye!"

Dream stays there a little longer, wings fluttering. He sheds a bit of gold, and Dust feels a testing pressure on his soul, like something trying to push inside. Dust isn't sure what stops it, but he barely feels any of the little shrimp's aura, not like the zombies living upstairs. He always assumed it was just a heat-of-battle thing before, but now Dust wonders if something else is going on.

"I must attend to household management... Shall I send someone else to look after-"

"NO! I CAN DO IT!" Blue pats his chest. "IF I NEED A SHIFT CHANGE I CAN TEXT YOU! OR CALL YOU. OR YOU CAN COME AND CHECK ON US LATER?" He sounds hopeful in a way that tugs at the edges of Dust's mind. A familiar cadence. He isn't sure what it is about it, but he thinks he dislikes hearing it. It makes his marrow boil, but not in the violent way he is used to.

"I will keep that in mind," Dream says, voice oddly, uncomfortably soft, before taking his leave.

Blue stands there watching him go, before sinking into the beanbag chair by Dust's new bed and sighing. "WOWWIE."

Dust thinks this is the perfect time to go to sleep. He is exhausted, the fight beaten out of him as if drained out of his bones. He thinks it might have something to do with the prick he got from Ink, but he cannot be certain now. Dust thinks he will sleep this off and then kill them all later...

His brother clearly has other ideas, given where one of his hands goes.

Papyrus slides a gloved hand through the fabric of Dust's shirt, curling his leather-bound fingers around his lumbar and starting to stroke. The first few pumps are slow, almost soothing, but the intent of them sinks into Dust like hooks, demanding attention. He barely bites back a grunt of surprise.

"YOU ARE TENSE," Papyrus says. "SO VERY TENSE. SINCE YOU SEEM INCAPABLE OF DOING IT YOURSELF, I SUPPOSE I WILL HAVE TO HELP YOU." He keeps stroking Dust like his spine owes him money, squeezing tingling warmth out of him. Dust tries not to move, tries not to acknowledge what Papyrus has decided to do, but the texture of that red leather is unmistakable, and reminds him of other leather-like textures that have been there.

Dust struggles to keep down an embarrassing pavlovian response (which he is going to kill Kink for instilling in him later). His magic crackles in every joint, mingling with the intent Dust knows he is imagining like the two are inciting a chemical reaction. Just when Dust thinks he has himself under control, Papyrus' second glove goes up into his ribs, and teases those tender inner surfaces mercilessly. His brother has always been a very brutal guy, but Dust cannot recall ever being subjected to this kind of brutality before.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Blue asks. "YOU LOOK A BIT FLUSHED..."

Dust gives the idea of answering that some serious consideration. All that consideration goes out the fucking window when Papyrus grips his neck with his teeth and bites down just enough to make Dust groan. Dust's sockets fly open, and he sees Blue watching him with an expression he cannot identify or interpret. Before he can try much harder, Dust's world goes dark, the crimson of his brother's scarf covering his sockets until he can see nothing but black. Dust tries to shake it off, but Papyrus has always been good at tying knots. He won't be getting that scarf off without his hands, at least.

"WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED TO LOOK AT OTHER PEOPLE?" Papyrus asks. Dust hears him chuckle against his skull, although his hands are still doing things to him that have Dust squirming. "ALTHOUGH I CANNOT STOP THEM FROM LOOKING AT YOU..." He lets that thought hang there. "YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT, SANS," he murmurs. "YOU GIVE IT TO YOUR PRECIOUS PET ALL THE TIME. WHY DON'T YOU GIVE IT TO ME, FOR ONCE?"

Dust feels light-headed, overly warm. He's still fully clothed. Even if Papyrus can bypass his clothes, Dust can't shake them off. He does know what Papyrus wants (the intent being fed into him is rather damning in that regard), but there isn't much room to give it with his shorts still on and his legs tied closed. It will be a very, very tight squeeze.

Papyrus is unrelenting. He bites Dust's shoulder next, and the intent that shocks his system is almost soft in its viciousness. Dust is having a harder time thinking, unable to see and inundated with such encouragement. He isn't even sure that he can give Papyrus what he wants, but he stops resisting his soul's reflex to attempt, bracing for a backlash.

One never comes. Instead, Dust's ecto manifests, using the set that Kink taught him to enjoy the most: a dick, asshole, and pussy, all at once. His length ends up stiff and cramped down one of his pantlegs. He feels a dribble of warm wetness slide down his femur, one that is mirrored from higher up. His pseudoflesh itches, tingling, aching for the attention that those cruel leather hands had promised.

"I GUESS EVEN YOU CAN BE A GOOD BOY WHEN YOU TRY," Papyrus sneers. His words make Dust flush all over again, so hot he can feel it in his face and chest. Leather hands that slide over his bones, uncaring of any clothing in the way, crawl down, leaving trails of heat where the supple texture dares to touch. They go lower and lower until one finds his dick, trapped and immobile. The palm grinds slow and cruel from base to tip, back down, then back up to assault the head, teasing the very tip.

Dust jolts full body, rolling onto his side and trying to curl up like that will save him from it. He can hear his own breathing as the loudest thing in the room, stuttered and irregular, carrying some of his disused voice with it.

The other glove starts to toy with Dust's ass, working the puckered hole until it lets a thumb in. "HE CANNOT STOP WATCHING YOU," Papyrus observes against Dust's acoustic meatus. "NOT THAT I CAN BLAME HIM. YOU ARE QUITE THE LITTLE CAR WRECK. THE LIGHTSHOW IN YOUR PANTS IS IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO NOTICE. AND YOU STINK TERRIBLY WITH YOUR SLIME." Dust has nearly forgotten that he and Papyrus aren't alone in the room; the reminder makes him shiver, makes him feel consciously vulnerable for the first time in a long time. His brother snickers. "YOU MADE EVEN MORE SLIME. DO YOU LIKE THE IDEA OF HIM WATCHING THAT MUCH?"

Dust squirmes. He isn't used to being on display. He isn't used to feeling like this at all, hot and bothered and needy. Pleasure almost hurts, itching, aching, and the friction from that leather is bringing him closer- closer-

Then it stops. Dust thinks he hears a pitiful noise, but his skull is swimming too much to be certain.

"YOU ARE A HOPELESS MESS. WHAT A USELESS BROTHER I HAVE. YOU WILL RUIN YOUR ONLY PAIR OF SHORTS AT THIS RATE." Papyrus's voice gets further away as he scolds him. Dust thinks maybe he is losing his hearing, or Papyrus is just going to leave him riled up to stew until he can escape. What Dust doesn't anticipate is feeling Papyrus' tongue lav at his quivering slit, the almost-gentle attention dragging a groan unwilling from his ribs. "BE GRATEFUL THAT I AM WILLING TO CLEAN UP YOUR MESS," Papyrus says before returning his tongue to Dust's dripping lower lips.

The gloves don't stop their work either, merely slow. Dust is dragged and coaxed over and over through the various stages of arousal, closer and closer to the edge of release only to be dragged away again like a dog that had wandered too close to the street. Contrary to his words about cleaning, Dust can feel his own arousal making more and more a mess of him, soaking his pantleg from his dick and splattering the crotch of his shorts where Papyrus's tongue just can't keep up with demand. Dust doesn't have much range of motion, but his hips rock and squirm without much of his say-so involved. His own liquid arousal burns him, and that leather smears it, and that tongue is like a sword to a hydra, making twice what it takes away.

"...DUST?" Blue's voice pierces the heat and the dark, and Dust is reminded that he has an audience to his rather humiliating display. A leather glove, one which is decidedly not his brother's, settles on Dust's face. It's colder than his brother's hand, and the intent in it is several times more potent. "CAN I HELP YOU?"

Shamefully, just that little touch is enough help. Or, perhaps it is Papyrus's shift in technique, or the increase in his speed. Regardless, that moment is the moment Dust finally comes, and he hopes for the sake of his pride that the noise he hears (a noise that sounds so pornographic it almost makes him come again) is just in his imagination.

It isn't the first time Dust passes out in a pool of his own fluids. He doubts it will be the last.

Chapter Text

Ink looked more like a doll than Red had ever seen him. "uh... how long's he been like this?" he asked, looking over to where Error was knitting.

"fUcK iF i KnOw," Error mumbled. "dUmBaSs CaMe In HeRe WiThOuT hIs StUpId PaInTs, ThEn DrOpPeD."

Red frowned at that, turning back to Ink. It wasn't that he was lifeless, exactly, except he was. He didn't move much, but his head tilted when he heard Red and Error talking, like a doll that had been puppeted. He was the size of a doll too, by Red's guess, being under four feet tall and more clothes than body. Red always considered himself short, but Ink was just small.

"what can we do about it?"

"fInD hIs DrUgS oR sHuT uP aBoUt It," Error snapped, knitting a little more furiously.

"how are we-"

The floor between Red and Error turned black in a wet mess. Tendrils reached up, bracing in a triangle around the blackness to gain leverage, then pulled up another tiny form. Nightmare was always rather terrifying, dripping in ooze and wafting a scent of otherness. Red didn't regret declining his offer.

In Nightmare's hands was Ink's bandolier, a tad messy with cracks in the vials. Few of the paints were left. "As promised, I have found it."

Error sent strings to grab the thing. "gReAt! NoW gEt LoSt!"

If Nightmare took offense to Error's behavior, he did not show it. He let his deep, icy-blue eyelights linger on Red, then left the same way he came, leaving only a few drops of aromatic slime behind.

Red watched Error inspect the paint vials, cursing at the damage and loss. "fUcK. sTuPiD iDiOt DuMbAsS fUcKeR..." He pulled out the only two vials still left with paint in them, then used strings to shove them in Red's face. "gIvE hIm ThEsE!"

Red took the vials, checking them over. Gold and Purple were a combination he had seen Ink enjoy rather often. He had a pretty good idea what would happen when he drank them. Red was flustered, recalling the last time that combo was used near him, how Ink was all over Reaper as Error watched...

Red swallowed nervously, looking back to Ink again. He would remain lifeless without them... And Red liked that idea significantly less than maybe having a fling with Ink he hadn't anticipated.

'Get a grip, idiot,' Red thought to himself as he approached Ink, putting an arm around him while he popped the cork of the paints with his other hand. "have a drink w' me, inkstain," he murmured, bringing the first bottle to Ink's teeth and tilting back. Ink didn't respond much at first, the effect that was usually instantaneous now distressingly delayed. He didn't manage to drink it all, a small shimmering rivulet spilling down his chin, but Red heard him swallow, and the vial emptied.

The Gold didn't seem to be enough, Ink still limp and unresponsive, so Red got the Purple and had him drink that next. It was halfway through that vial that Ink finally moved, his hand coming up to grip the bottle and guide it with his own power. Color began to fill his eyelights, the shapes starting to shift as his grin lilted with personality.

"What were we doing?" Ink asked, looking Red up and down. "Sorry, I forgot..."

Red sighed in relief. "ya ran out o' paint," he explained. "yer paints went missin', n' when we found it, a lot o' 'm were empty. this is all we got."

Ink looked at the bottles, looked at Red, and then threw up black ink all over the both of them. It reeked of chemicals and something floral, making Red dizzy. He hadn't gotten high quite so fast since his college days. Red leaned on Ink as he became light-headed, his magic starting to boil and rush through his marrow with alarming urgency, pooling in his pelvis and the back of his throat. He could taste the thick, hot paint that was all over him.

Ink curled an arm up and over to stroke over Red's skull, the cold of his lifeless hands soothing in comparison to the sudden, insistent heat taking over Red's soul. Ink laughed, a sound that was almost musical in the haze that had overtaken Red. "Sorry, that's involuntary." The way his other hand was pawing at Red's sweater, sinking his fingers shamelessly into the soaked material to reach his sternum and ribs, was decidedly not involuntary.

"fuck-" Red swore, clutching Ink for a little stability. "w-watch where yer fuckin' gropin-"

"I am watching," Ink said, low and smooth. Red shivered, looking down at the shrimp that was holding him upright. Those heterochromatic eyelights flickered through one intensity after another, every shape and color pinning him as if he were prey before a dangerous beast. Ink wasn't much more than half his size and yet, looking at him like that, he made Red feel so small. "And I like what I see." Ink's smirk was dripping in the blackness of his namesake.

When Ink stole a kiss, Red could taste it. He should have been disgusted with it, oils and chemicals and something softer, but all Red could think about was how he was struggling not to ruin his pants.

Ink had his way tasting Red, which just exacerbated Red's disorientation. When he finally had enough wits to be aware of himself, Red found he was on his back, and tiny, harmless Ink was looming over him. "I gotta work some of this paint off," the little freak said, already shoving Red's sweater up to get to his bare ribs. "You'll help me, won't you?"

Red gulped. His mouth felt dry, more dry than he ever remembered it being. He was overly hot and those cold hands were tempting. So tempting. They were- they were in the same relationship. Error wouldn't mind, right? He was right there. He handed Red the vials, and he said- he said that it was fine before, with Lust- they were-

"e-error..?" Red rasped. He wasn't sure-

"eItHeR fUcK hIm Or DoN't," Error's voice snarled. "jUsT lEt Me FuCkInG wOrK!"

That metaphorical green light ripped the last bit of hesitation out of Red. He laid back down, nodding up at the fuzzy outline around Ink's piercing eyelights.

Ink leaned in to kiss Red again, and Red could feel how light, how small, Ink was on top of him. His arms curled around Ink easily, roaming over his back, pulling gently at his precious scarf. Red thought, maybe, a short bit of really, really drunk making-out would be just what Ink needed. He was proven wrong when Ink grabbed Red's wrists, moved them to a spot over his head, and pinned him with more force than his tiny body had any right to wield.

Red was rather embarrassed how fast his ecto snapped into place, looking up at Ink while he had him right where he fucking wanted him. Fuck-

And then Ink did that thing he did- he froze, going oddly still, that hooded gaze losing all focus. "...What were we doing..?"

Red had never seen Ink reset his memory quite so fast.

"yOu WeRe GoInG tO gO rEfIlL yOuR fUcKiNg PaInTs," Error snarled.

Ink looked up. "Was I?" Then he looked back down at Red. That purple tinged leer settled on him again, and Red felt his dick throb where it was confined in his pants. "Well, maybe I'll linger for one little game?"

Red nodded, almost frantic. He'd forgotten to breathe for a moment. He needed to breathe.

Ink got up and rolled Red onto his front, grabbing a handful of his summoned ecto and squeezing. "You made this just for me?" He snickered, full of synthetic mirth.

Red groaned, clawing at the white floor. "d-don't go gettin' a big head," he warned. Ink hadn't done the fucking work to make Red this comfortable, this safe in himself to get aroused from a little rough play. All he did was get him high as a kite.

Red was really high. Rubbing his face against the floor felt nice. Ink's hand kneading at his ass felt nice. If he moved his hips just right, he got some friction on his dick that felt really nice-

Ink grabbed Red's hips, holding them firm and lifting. "On your knees." He ordered. And Red, Red was too fucked up to argue. He did it. He stayed there on his knees, head pillowed in his arms on the floor, and only gasped sharply when Ink yanked his shorts down to expose him.

"You are such a great color," Ink praised, kneading at Red's ass more. "But if I remember right, colors can... change..."

The first smack was gentle, almost flirty. Red liked a bit of rough play, although he had never imagined getting that kind of thing from Ink. The next strike stung, the shock cathartic. Red groaned, relaxing everything but his trembling legs. He couldn't recall how the hell he wound up like this, worked up, drunk on something that soaked his shirt through, and horny, but he couldn't think of any reason to mind.

The world was fuzzy and Red was damn comfortable with-

The next smack was a shock, the intent rocking Red in a wave. First the sting, then the tingling numbness, then the adrenaline rush. That small, cold hand stroked over the spot it no doubt left with a bruise, leaving a new kind of tingling in its wake.

Red shifted to bring a hand down, more than happy to stroke himself off to this-

"Now string him up for me, Error!"

"wut-" Red didn't know what hit him until it was too late: Error's strings were fast, too fast when he wanted them to be. Even when Red wasn't inebriated, they were hard to follow. One moment Red was on the ground, and the next he was in the air, wrists tied over his head, his aching dick bobbing between splayed legs. "why-"

"I need more paint if I'm going to enjoy this the right way!" Ink said cheerfully, bouncing over to collect the remains of his bandoleer. "So! I definitely have to go collect more! You stay put until I get back! I'll even make a note-"

"but-" Red struggled in the strings. He could literally just jack off and be done right now!

"-Red. With. Error. Waiting. Bring. Pinks. There! Notes!" Ink sounded so happy with himself. "Okay~ I'll be back soon! I hope!"

"'you hope-''

Error was cackling like this was the funniest thing he had seen in weeks as Ink left through a swatch of paint on the floor. Red whined, something he knew more from the feeling in his damp, tingling ribs than from any sound.

That stupid inkstain owed him big time.

Chapter Text

Red's hips bucked up uselessly, splattering a bit of pre over his bloated middle. The inside of his ecto was starting to tingle, heavy and full in a way that Red wasn't accustomed to.

"You want more, teddybear?" Blue asked, soft and low as any threat. That leather-clad hand still rubbed over his middle, squishing it. "We have more for you~"

"A LOT MORE," Black agreed, leaning in to leave teasing nibbles on Red's shoulder. "HERE..." He brought another bottle of water to Red's teeth. "DRINK."

Red did as he was ordered, repressing a whimper. It was hard to see beyond the bottle in his face, but he felt hands slide down his body, appreciating, coveting, claiming him how he liked with burning intent. One finally grasped at his dick, still stuffed in (with the head just peaking out of) his panties. He could tell that it was Blue's hand, the way it tugged at the waistline, the pressure as it ground its palm into his aching, neglected shaft. Blue had a distinctly different technique, one that makes Red's soul flutter and his dick throb. He swallowed his water, but the moan that ripped through him made him spill some down his jaw.

"I SAID DRINK, PET," Black sneered. "WHAT HAS YOU DISTRACTED FROM ME?" He scratched idly at one of Red's scars, digging in to make Red moan again, spilling more water. Red wanted to snark back that he had a lot of nerve when he was the one making that happen, but he instantly forgave Black when he replaced the bottle with his tongue in a kiss. Red hated how weak he had become, a fucking simp for Black as bad as he was for Blue. Honestly, having them gang up on him would have been a very dangerous idea if he didn't trust the both of them with his life.

His dick didn't trust them. His dick didn't trust them at all. "please-" Red was definitely at the begging stage, straining against the cuffs still holding his arms behind his back. "lemme come- lemme-"

"Just a little longer," Blue shushed him. The vibes were removed from Red's dick, and for a moment, he thought he would be allowed to breathe.

"YOU COME WHEN WE SAY YOU COME," Black all but purred. The bottle returned to Red's face. "DRINK UP."

Red drank, too desperate and obedient and grateful to even question it. He'd gotten three swallows down when he felt the first soft, wet swipe of something on his dick. He almost choked at the second swipe, turning his head to the side to cough and moan as those little kitten licks continued. Blue was licking his dick and Red was quaking through another aborted orgasm. He tried to look down, to see that face between his legs, pressed close and laving at his magic, but Black intercepted with his scarf, blinding him.

"YOU DO NOT GET A SHOW. YOU ARE THE SHOW."

"And the snack," Blue reminded him between licks and nibbles.

Black cupped Red's face. "DRINK."

Red was coaxed to drink what he thought was a lot, all the while Black kissed and bit him on the neck and shoulder, teasing his ribs, and Blue licked his magic, teasing the head around the sounding rod, and the dildo in his ass buzzed on, exacerbating the building pressure. It took Red way, way longer than he cared to admit to figure out what new, exciting thing his boyfriends had planned out for him that night. The embarrassment of it, realizing what was happening to him, why he felt so full and in need of release above and beyond the need to come, did something for him he'd never admit to anyone else but them.

"need t'- please, i need-"

"WHAT DO YOU NEED, PET?" Black asked, a rasping whisper against Red's skull.

"Tell us," Blue ordered, pausing in his enjoyment of Red's assets.

"i-" Red gulped, squirming. He couldn't see it but he knew they were watching him, eyelights laser-focused on him and only him. Red's insides trembled, throbbing with a pressure that demanded release. "i n-need t' pee." He'd only ever eaten human food once before. He'd never thought that kind of alarming urgency would be this hot.

"I thought you said you needed to come," Blue hummed, palming at Red's dick again. Red saw stars in the darkness of his blindfold, gasping and panting as he resisted the urge to swear. "Which is it, teddybear?"

"both!" Red bucked into Blue's hand. "both! cmon, cmon, please- please-" Fuck, he couldn't think straight. He was so pent up he couldn't even breathe without wanting.

Black snickered. "ANOTHER SCENE CHANGE, THEN. SINCE OUR NASTY LITTLE PET IS GOING TO BE A MESS." His degrading words (hot) aside, all Red felt when Black scooped him up was infinite gentleness and care. Black talked a big game but Red knew his dirty little secret now: he had feelings. Red went as pliant as his trembling and squirming would allow, pressing into Black's chest for comfort. He was rather proud of the way Black's breath hitched. Sucker.

Red was carried somewhere colder, and when he was set down, he was confident it was into the bathtub.

Someone started running the water, but Red only felt a few flecks of spray against his legs. The dildo was turned off completely, leaving it as an inert pressure in his ass. A set of hands (Blue's, Red thought, but this time he wasn't sure) gripped his dick securely and slowly, teasingly, and removed the sounding rod.

"You can come, teddybear," Blue purred, arms going around Red's shoulders and holding him in a hug (surprising Red by confirming that it was Black who had his dick so gently). "But you can't pee until after you come, understand?"

Red nodded, frantic. He was so okay with that arrangement, bucking his hips into Black's waiting hands-

Except Black pulled his hands away before Red could get any friction. "whu-"

"YOU HEARD HIM. COME, PET." Black seemed to have crawled onto Red's other side, by the sound, sitting with him in the tub. While Blue kept Red upright, one hand kneading at his shoulder, the other rubbing soothing circles into his full middle, Black gripped Red's chin and stole a kiss. A part of Red noted how fond Black had gotten of kissing lately, but at the moment he was far more concerned about trying to come with little-to-no stimulation.

Red's dick was finally free, but at what cost-?!

"please-" More begging. He didn't care. Red didn't care at all how pathetic he looked. "touch me, cmon please, make me come, please, please f- f---" He wasn't allowed to swear during sex, fuck!

Blue kissed him this time, more forcefully, lingering and deep and claiming. Red's hips bucked, his magic throbbing. His situation was more urgent by the second, with no amount of clenching or squirming seeming to help. The sound of the shower wasn't helping either. Still, Red was useless in Blue's hands, moaning into that kiss, creeping closer to the edge of bliss on just the intent from his boyfriends and a building need towering ever higher.

"NOBODY WOULD BELIEVE US IF WE TOLD THEM HOW SEXY YOU WERE," Black rasped. Red could hear in the cadence of his voice that Black was jacking off, resting his head on Red's shoulder. When Red was released from his kiss with Blue, Black took right over, possessive.

"You're so pretty like this," Blue agreed. His hands resumed roaming over Red's body, his intent clawing through him, demanding he feel good, that he enjoy every moment. "I can't look away when you sparkle so nicely for us. Red. Teddybear~"

Red couldn't hold it in anymore. He was gonna piss himself-

"Come," Blue commanded, just as his hand found Red's dick and gave it a few quick pumps.

Red cried out so hard his voice was like a cheese grater against his cervical vertebrae. His legs trembled hard enough to cramp and he didn't even have muscles. Thick dampness smacked him in the face, stinking of him the same way his wadded-up bedsheets did. Black broke the kiss to lick his face clean, taking his sweet fucking time as Red rode out the aftershocks.

His lap was soaked a few moments later, warm liquid not from the shower soaking into his panties and clinging. The release of so much pressure felt so good that Red had another, smaller orgasm. He was dizzy, he was spent, and he was so fucking thankful.

"Good boy," Blue purred, kissing the top of Red's skull. "Tired?"

Red nodded dumbly. His joints ached now that he wasn't blinded by need.

"REST, WE WILL HANDLE CLEANUP," Black ordered, as he always did. "YOU DID WELL."

Red leaned into Black, since he was the one supporting his body the most. He let himself sleep, trusting that the best guys a guy could ask for would be on the job. He just hoped aftercare didn't include a juice box this time.

Chapter Text

Lust was reading a car magazine. He found it floating around the house and asked Pink to borrow it. His brother was so cool and smart, Lust was so proud of him! He was less proud of himself, since he just couldn't seem to figure out what was going on. The blueprints and schematics were all greek to him, no matter how he stared or begged silently to the robotic gods. The best thing he got out of the damn thing were the pictures. He liked the idea of sliding over the hood of something red and shiny, seductively stretched out for his sweetheart to ravage him on before they drive somewhere remote and sky-heavy for a romantic-

The fantasy is interrupted by a hand reaching around Lust from behind, grabbing his lumbar, and stroking slow and dirty. Lust made to shout, but another hand covered his teeth. He considered biting it, but the scrape of familiar claws and scent of familiar magic maked Lust go immediately limp. His soul throbbed needily, messily, and he leaned back into the person standing behind him.

"wut kind o' sentry gets snuck up 'n so fuckin' easy?" Red's gravelly baritone demanded. "now look t' ya, all caught 'n shit. basically fuckin' dead." He tilted Lust's head to one side and licked at the little notch carved out of his cervical vertebrae. Lust groaned, trembling with anticipation, waiting for that tongue to dig a little deeper, for his saliva to make it down into his mana lines. When it hit, Lust moaned shamelessly into that hand, letting his ecto form in his pants-

Except, Lust hadn't worn his usual pants that day. He had worn a miniskirt and long black stockings. For once, there was plenty of room for all the excitement he felt at being visited by Red.

"baby, i'm still at work," Lust tried to remind Red, although his voice was muffled. He didn't let his tone slip into anything that could be considered argumentative or contentious. He didn't personally mind at all when Red used his boyfriend privileges. Red could have him anytime, anywhere. He was just surprised that Red was indulging at all..!

Red's claws grazed down Lust's spine to paw at the bulge in his skirts. He chuckled dark and low when Lust's hips bucked into his hand. "yup. keep on workin', sweetheart. hands on th' fuckin' counter. dun' mind me." It didn't take an empath to hear the zest for revenge in Red's voice. He was clearly on a mission today.

How cute. Lust loved him so fucking much. He made his hands settle on the counter, still clutching the slightly-crumpled magazine. "yes'sir," Lust slurred. He was already hot and bothered, but smelling Red was making it hard to handle it. His vision was already starting to blur, his eyelights dilating and deforming to the point of affecting his vision. He could feel the dampness of his own saliva dripping down his jaw, his own heavy breathing bouncing back to him off Red's hand.

"damn fuckin' right," Red all but purred. His baby loved role-reversal a lot more than Lust cared to acknowledge at times. Red was all but vibrating with excitement, victory, and glee, pressing closer to Lust's back as he let the hand that had gagged him slip down to tug at Lust's collar. "yer 'n my collar, slut, yer mine."

Lust had to grit his teeth so he didn't moan loud enough for the other sentries to hear. Maybe he liked role-reversal a little more than he gave himself credit for. Red had barely touched him and he was already about to come. "r-"

"shut th' fuck up," Red snarled, tugging the collar again. His other hand gave Lust's dick one last little massage before crawling back up to toy with his lumbar. "yer at work, so dun fuckin' talk t' me~" The teasing, vicious lilt that only Lust ever got to hear went right to his dick, like lightning, like a drug. Red was intoxicating.

The insistent grinding of Red's palm into Lust's spine became slick from sweat. The blades of his teeth grazed over Lust's neck and jaw, taking more territory as he managed to slide Lust's jacket down from his shoulders. Lust tried to keep breathing, watching the puffs of heated air float around him, the steam from his body visible in the cold of Snowdin's winter frost. Lust was too hot to notice the chill, too dizzy to notice the crunch of approaching footsteps.

Red slid under the counter of Lust's sentry station, settled between his legs. "don't mind me," he growled, low and knowing.

Lust blinked, finally given a chance to compose himself from his critical fluster. When he could see clearly, he had to look up a little to face Undyne. "oh, heya," he greeted, feeling off-put and trying to hide it behind a smile. He'd been in the middle of something heavenly, after all.

"You've been slacking off more, lately," Undyne said. "Taking fewer hours at the club, sleeping on the job. And your other job. And your other job." She narrowed her eyes at Lust. "Fess up, what's gotten into you?!"

Lust rolled his eyelights. "is it really that weird that lazy ol' me would wanna-" He stumbled over the next few words, as his soul was reasonably distracted by sharp, playful claws caressing his legs through the stockings. "-take man- mandi- legally scheduled breaks??" Lust could feel sweat sliding down his skull. He had kept a straight face through more than one really good blowjob, but Red's claws ruined him.

"It's weird!" Undyne argued. "Like, hecking weird! You're ALWAYS looking for relief, and now suddenly you have better things to do?! Are-" She looked to one side. "Are you alright, dude?"

Lust might have been touched by her concern if he wasn't already entirely, completely occupied with overwhelming arousal and a lot of fucking love for the boyfriend nibbling at his ankle and scratching at his tibia. Red had slid off one of his boots to get to almost-bare bone, working through those soft stockings. Lust's toes curled every time teeth or claws threatened to shred fabric just to get to periosteum. His neglected dick throbbed, feeling cold and alone and burning for attention, while lines of heat were carved through his legs as if with a brand. "i- i'm better than ever," Lust managed, trying not to crease or crumple his brother's car magazine any more than he already had. "j-just found s-"

Red bit down on Lust's femur, deep enough to draw his analogue for blood. The sharp pain of it made him faint, going stiff as he resisted reaching under the counter to hold his boyfriend's head right there, right fucking there, fuck- "s-s-something else t-to do-!!"

Undyne leveled Lust with an intense stare. "Something? Or..." Her grin turned sly. "Someone?" She slapped the countertop. "You hotdog! You got yourself someone special? Who is it? Is it the bartender? You've been slobbering all over him for long enough-"

Red must have disliked hearing about that, since he immediately let go of the one leg just to bite into the other with the same ferocity. The cold bit at the open bite wound he left behind, nibbling at Lust and adding another reason to shiver and struggle. He honestly wasn't used to holding back his reactions. It was hard, hard like his dick, which still hadn't been loved on.

"n-not grillby," Lust rasped. Fuck. He can't see straight anymore. Undyne is a blur of scales and teeth. Lust liked teeth. He liked Red's teeth the best. They were so good for kissing. And biting. And smirking. And just being sexy. Did he mention biting? "fuck-"

"Did you just swear at me?!"

"m-maybe..?" Lust forced himself to let go of the magazine, instead clawing at the far-more-durable countertop. "it's cold and lonely out here... g-gets to a guy, yanno?"

Undyne rolled her neck, looming. "Yeah, I getcha. Well, if you ever DO end up sick, or something, you call me."

"yessir!"

"And whoever you have under there needs a raise! I've never seen you so flustered!" Undyne smacked the table again. "Remind me later about your bonus!" She laughed (possibly at Lust's startled, stunned face, because he was very much both) as she left.

There was silence, heavy and hot and still thrumming with tension as Lust kept trying to remain composed. He failed, leaving scratches in the countertop, breathing heavier, whimpering as the newly fallen snow melted on contact with him, drenching him in a gentle rain.

It was only then that Red had any pity for him, grasping at his dick through his skirts. His handjob was rough, but Lust was already so far gone it didn't matter. It felt so good, he felt so good! Lust loved him so much! He-

Lust came, splattering his skirt and legs in his magic. The ecstasy of release had him dizzy, limp, drunk on it. "red~!!"

Red finally crawled out from under the counter. Purple blood was on his teeth. He gripped Lust's face, making him watch as he licked those wonderful teeth clean. "told'ja i'd get ya back."

"i love you," Lust mumbled, leaning into Red and begging for a proper kiss. His legs ached terribly where he could feel them, but he didn't care. Fuck walking, kisses now.

Red was flushed crimson, as if wind-kissed. He curled his arms around Lust, and promptly scooped him up bridal style. Lust got his kiss the same moment Red shortcut home with him. Whether for a bath, cuddles, or round two, Lust didn't care. He was just glad he'd be spending that time with his sweetheart.

Chapter Text

Night is rather comfortable, all things considered. He expected the clothes that he was to wear would be overly cramped or poorly suited to his wings. The garment is backless, clasping behind his neck like his normal clothing, and flairs open around his legs for easy movement. It's also a slimming black, which is fine. Black isn't his favorite color, but he doesn't mind it.

He also doesn't mind what he manages to get in trade for wearing it.

Night turns to look at Stretch, who is tangled rather cutely in a swarm of his vines and roots. His arms are stretched over his head, legs spread, his body supported strategically from above and below in a chaotic, slithering, woven sling that doubles as a prison. Night is currently at work relieving him of his shoes, although he teases at what comes next by tugging on the ends of his shorts. A tendril slithers to hike up his hoodie and undershirt, showing off the lovely lumbar and ribs underneath.

"you like what you see?" Night asks, as if he doesn't already know. He can taste Stretch's excitement on the air itself, feel it as if it is his own. Night maneuvers his body slowly, feeling out what pose elicits the most emotion for Stretch by trial and error, until he finds exactly the stance he wants: Night stands at an angle, one arm crossed to claw at his opposite hip, while the other lingers up by his neck and shoulders. He holds that position so Stretch can burn it into his memory, enjoying the slack-jawed, drooling expression he makes in return. It is damn nice to feel desired, to feel wanted.

When Stretch remembers how to talk like a person, the first thing he says is, "yeah..!" Night feels him struggling involuntarily against his viney bindings, feels his legs tremble and his hands curl into fists. "i knew you'd look good in- in a lil black dress..."

Night preens, turning to show off another angle. "as i knew you would look good in me."

Stretch flushes that pretty honey orange that Night loves to see, a color that spreads as Stretch's shorts are stolen from him. Pelvis bare, Night steps between his legs and runs a finger along the iliac crest. Color blooms in his wake, flushing down his ala as slickness pools in his pelvic inlet. Night watches the warm honey color bead like morning dew, sliding down to gather and roil unformed in that basin. What is even more fascinating is that the longer he watches, the more that forms, and the more Stretch reeks of arousal and embarrassment.

Night has no idea why this would embarrass him, when he has already shamelessly dug his hands into Night's wings and harvested his pollen like a greedy worker bee. He supposes it is a cultural thing.

"s-so, uh-" Stretch tries to compose himself, but his voice betrays him even without his emotions. "what are we doing now..?"

How cute. As if Night isn't being rather obvious about what he will be doing. "we agreed. if i wore this for you, you would let me play with you," he reminds him. "i recall the terms being, 'body and soul'?" The way Stretch trembles in his hold, against his hand, how his scent thickens the more flustered he becomes, is intoxicating. Night thumbs tenderly at Stretch's pubic symphysis, working in the moisture and enjoying the feel of that building heat.

"n-night-!!" Stretch's voice breaks. It sounds musical, it sounds like home and comfort. It sounds like treasure. It sounds like something that is Night's. "night, cmon, you're teasing..!"

"i am," Night agrees. "and i want to keep doing so." He uses a bit of extra effort to pull Stretch even higher, high enough that his pelvis aligns nicely with Night's face. Night has seen how the perspective of this is common in erotic materials, and he uses that to his advantage here in what he hopes is a provocative display. He keeps making eye contact with Stretch as he presses a rather heated kiss to his pubic symphysis, using his tongue liberally.

Stretch tries futilely to grind into Night's face. Night can feel every attempt, the strain on his vines, the tremor of Stretch's body in his hold. He cannot help the smile it brings to him, feeling the way Stretch likes what he does, yearns for more of it. Night feels his own body start to slicken in response, his hue no doubt flushing to that embarrassing spring pink. He pays it no mind, since Stretch is now his to enjoy and be enjoyed by.

"night-!" Stretch seems to like saying his name. Night likes hearing it when Stretch says it, slurred and rasping like forming the sounds alone leaves him in awe.

"beg for me more," Night orders. He cradles Stretch's hips in both hands, laving his tongue over that heated joint. He dips to one side, then the other, paying attention to the obturatur foramen, tasting the liquid magic congealing behind them. His languid attentions get him exactly what he wants: Stretch cries out a little louder with every swipe of his tongue, and makes even more sweet orange honey for him to taste.

With Stretch now sensitive and pliant, Night uses his tendrils to best effect. He shifts attention to the smaller, slicker ones he has on standby, using them to start weaving a complicated and elegant pattern through Stretch's sacrum foramen. Stretch swears, a wet, obscene, "fuck..!" dragged out of him. Night smiles wider, watching his face as it loses all focus, all composure. Night feels every drop of Stretch's arousal like rain on parched earth. It is glorious. It isn't enough.

Stretch's magic attempts to take form and manifest. Night nibbles at the edges, discouraging the act even as the desire for it becomes more urgent. That urgency is delicious too, tangy, validating. "i did not give license to your unnecessary magic..."

"i-it's a reflex-" Stretch tries to explain, his voice breaking again when Night uses the tendrils artistically woven through his sacrum to grind wet and dirty against those tender inner surfaces. Night's reward is another swear, another, "fuck-" that sounds more drawled and poorly pronounced. Night basks in it, in Stretch's building need, then wraps a tendril through his obturator foramen and all but ties his pubic symphysis in a bow. Such an obstruction does its job, preventing Stretch's ecto from manifesting. The way Stretch starts to cry is delightful, his face glittering in overstimulation and lust.

Night has the sling lower so he can reach, so he can kiss Stretch properly. He lets Stretch taste his voice, cradling his jaw and groaning at how wonderful it is to be wanted by someone he wants so fucking much in return. Night hopes this feeling really is romantic love, because if it isn't, he is certain he will be crushed by the weight of the true emotion. He can barely stand it as it is, choking on his own desire to have, to hold, to taste and smell and touch and love.

The next thing Night starts to ravage is Stretch's ribs. The one tentacle that had been keeping that adorable hoodie and shirt out of the way is joined by many more, weaving and sliding through Stretch's intercostal spaces. Night doesn't stop kissing him, enjoying the taste of his pleasure up close and personal. His roots thrust and grind and slide with his own arousal to lubricate, painting Stretch's ivory bones in Night's spring pinks. Splatters of it sprinkle down onto Stretch's spine, and Night feels how the sticky heat of it intensifies Stretch's insistent need.

Breaking the kiss, Night lets himself have a laugh. "am i doing this right, do you think?" He has to ask. He wants to ask. He wants to hear Stretch say it-

"y-yeah..!" Stretch does, his voice hoarse and rasping and raw. Night kisses him again, mounting him so he is basically sitting in Stretch's lap. His skirts hike up, and if Night gyrates just right, he can grind his neglected ecto into the mound of the tendril curled around Stretch's pubic symphysis. He rocks his hips, and it rocks Stretch, and Night drinks in the spikes of arousal and want in delightful waves.

They are entwined like that for what Night believes is over an hour, and he has a particularly good sense of time when he wishes to. Stretch begins to sour with desperation, his trembles and twitches growing more erratic. When they next break the kiss, Stretch attempts to babble, to beg. He trips over his words to the point Night can't understand, and Night has to shove a tendril into Stretch's mouth to shush him.

"patience," Night coos, pressing soothing little butterfly kisses to Stretch's jaw and shoulder. "are you at your limit?" Night shivers at the flair of hope and want and love that washes over him as Stretch nods like his life depends on it. He's so inundated with pleasure that Night is near his own peak. He groans, bucking his hips again in a fruitless attempt to climax, starting to pant. "then- then give your soul unto me."

Night expects hesitation. He expects some sort of attempt to beg or barter. Instead, the love he is being battered with intensifies further, with trust for good measure. Stretch's soul manifests of its own accord, the culmination of the man's entire being condensed and mirrored into a tiny inverted heart. Night reaches, and when Stretch does not flinch, he cradles the little organ close in both hands. The silver that drips onto his fingers smells of sugar, warm white honey sweetness that Night has to taste for himself.

He loves the taste. He loves how Stretch moans when he sees him taste it, how Stretch's arousal surges, just as much.

"you taste amazing," Night finally says. He doesn't think much of the words, since they are truth, but Stretch jolts like he's been struck. Night looks up at him, at his anguished expression, and smiles. "do you like hearing me say how valued you are? how handsome? how very, very..." Night strokes over the surface of Stretch's wet, trembling soul with his thumb, using the barest bit of pressure. Stretch's back arches, and Night is sure that if he wasn't holding Stretch so securely he would have been bucked right out of his lap. The soul in his hands bursts in a shower of silver as Stretch screams, his arousal and fluster and pleasure compounding in a soul-shattering eruption that has Night seeing stars.

Stretch comes, and Night comes with him for the ride.

When Night comes back to himself, he has to carefully lower himself and Stretch to the floor, loosening his hold bit by bit, untangling Stretch one tendril at a time. The tendril in his mouth comes out first, being the easiest, and Stretch coughs wetly, groaning. The moment Stretch has his arms free, he grabs ahold of Night, trembling and desperate and wanting, to hold him close and kiss him. The first kiss is fierce, claiming in a way that Night immediately likes. He returns it best he can despite the surprise. The second kiss is softer, almost sleepy. Night likes that too, returning it in kind. He can feel Stretch's strength wane, exhaustion overtaking him. Still kissing him, he tries to push Stretch back into the nest of tendrils, something soft to rest on. Stretch resists at first, but a few more insistent nudges has him down. What Night doesn't expect is Stretch pulling him along, cuddling him like a pillow, like something precious to defend even in sleep.

Night smiles, his own fatigue catching up with him. He closes his sockets, letting the sweet scent of sugar, sweat, and honey bless him with good dreams.

Chapter Text

"don't worry, i've got ya," said a voice that Red had never heard before. It wasn't gruff or rasping like his own, textured by years of smoking and drinking and growling for effect. He had never heard that kind of accent either. The eyelight that kept flicking between watching the path ahead and looking down at him was a vivid violet, sparkling as if filled with glitter, occasionally wisping in rainbows of blues and greens and pinks. Red had never seen magic as swell and lovely.

The problem was- the jam that Red was in was- that the puss that them pretty colors kept leaking out of was his: His ugly sharp teeth, his cracked-up mug, his fake tooth. It just wasn't his magic that was piloting it. Red's magic- his soul- wasn't in his body anymore. It was in his moll's. And his moll's was in his.

He'd never seen J's magic before. Cat was so sickly he didn't have enough to go around making fancy light shows. He always imagined it would take his breath away, be a real show-stopper, but Red's poor imagination just couldn't have prepared him for the real mccoy.

"i know it hurts," J (in Red's body) continued, voice low and silky, like velvet, like cream, like all the best things a voice could ever be. Red was a damn fool for his kitten before, knowing what he sounded like was going to be the death of him. "just bear with it a bit more, okay?"

Red had honestly forgotten why J was in such a rush. Maybe part of that was the shock of their body swap. Maybe part of that was the shock of his injury. He'd tripped and landed hard on his hands and knees, and something had cracked. J had recovered much faster; he had Red in his arms and was booking it before Red even knew what hit him.

Red never knew what it felt like to be carried by himself before. Compared to J, Red's body was rather big, and study. Aside from the one bulge where ol' Lucy was hidden in Red's clothes, being carried like this was the most comfortable he'd ever been in public. If this situation didn't resolve itself soon, Red was gonna get real keen on repeating this kinda treatment. If it did get fixed, he would remember to make a habit of carrying his kitten all the time, just always. He'd always liked carrying J close; it was real swell knowing it was just as good from the other side of things.

J kicked open a door (Red couldn't tell where they were, his vision swimming; he hadn't felt this out of it since he lost his tooth). "gimme the med kit," J's voice demanded.

"...Red?" That was Grillby's voice. Red tried to turn his head and look, greet his old pal, but-

"i said gimme the med kit." J might have been trying to sound stern, maybe even mimic Red, but he just sounded strained and desperate. Red tried to assist, to tell Grillby it was fine, he'd pay him back, but when Red tried to talk, the magic in his throat tensed up. It hurt, and he ended up coughing like he had a lung to cough up. J curled around him tighter, murmuring, "don't try to speak. i'm sorry, i know, just bear it a bit longer..." Like it was his fault. At least Red knew for sure that his kitten wasn't no dummerer. Red couldn't make his body make a peep.

The light in the room shifted, like ol Grillby was moving. "...Here," He said, his tone one that Red knew meant he would get them back later. "...Back room. Hurry. My customers are coming."

J must have grabbed the med kit, because he was moving a second later. Red caught the sound of a few strange voices before it was muffled, the lights going dim. J set him down on something soft that Red woulda bet money was Grillby's old couch. Large, scuffed-up claws that Red knew as his own, which felt so foreign and familiar, moved his limbs to start cleaning, bandaging, and healing first his legs, then his hands. Red hadn't realized just how much pain he was in until it was gone (or at least dulled).

"ok. ok. so." J murmured, running those claws gingerly over Red's borrowed arms and shoulders. "is that better?"

Red nodded, blinking his vision back into focus to look down at himself. J's body was small, and fragile; more fragile than he had any clue about. Red hadn't even fallen that hard, he'd controlled the fall like a pro, and he still ended up full of holes. His mitts were wrapped up like a pug's, and so were his knees. Worse, Red could barely see any of his magic in his joints, only the barest pink mist seemingly holding him together. He felt weak, like the lightest breeze could smash him to pieces against the alleyway walls.

Red had made love to this body. He'd made vigorous love. How badly had he hurt his moll when he-

J cupped Red's borrowed face, making him look up into that eyelight that was more beautiful than the night sky. "don't think about it too much. it's actually better than it was..." A radiant blush flushed over that face. "you've taken really good care of me, and i've been getting better every day, believe it or not."

If this was better, then Red didn't wanna think about how miserable his kitten must have been. He wanted to know who was responsible for making his doll this fucking sick. He'd fill 'm full of lead. He'd make 'm dance off the side of the fucking pier. He'd- J presses his teeth to Red's (or Red's teeth to J's, semantics), and all Red could think was, 'berries.' he never was what he would consider witty, but what little wit he had in him died real fast when his baby was being sweet on him. Red's soul had been nicked before he knew it. Today just made that a bit too literal.

"ok, calmer?" J asked. Red nodded again, making J smile. It was odd seeing his own face wear such a soft, open expression. "ok. good. great. i-" deep breath. "i'll figure out how to fix this. promise. but... uh..." There was more blushing, and Red wished he could see it on J's face instead of his own. "i'll be honest. i haven't found a good doc that i trust to look me over, right? and examining yourself isn't as effective. would. uh..."

Red was hanging on every little word J said. He wanted to remember that voice forever.

"would you mind too much if i examined me? while you're me? so. examine you?" J finally asked. "it might be a little invasive and... personal. so i get why you would say no. are you okay with that?" Sweat slid down J's skull- the skull J was borrowing. He was openly nervous, more expressive, more vivid. Red wanted to do anything he could to give some of that back to J for real. He nodded. Yes, yes he would let his datemate touch him all he liked.

As if that were some kinda hardship. Red felt like a conman again, getting double the reward while some poor sap was taken for a ride. Except better.

J coaxed Red to lean back into the cushions, sitting upright. J stayed kneeling in front of him, undoing his maryjanes and taking them off. Red would have been a tomato for sure if he had the reserves to blush at all. He didn't know how J did it so casually! Those were his feet with nothing between them and the world but a thin little sock- And then J took the sock too, holding Red's borrowed bare tarsals up to the dim light.

Red could hear that the pub was filling up. Noise from the growing crowd flit through the cracks in the thin walls.

J bared the other foot as well, and then proceeded to inspect them. "sturdier than expected..." he mumbled under his breath. Red felt the prickle of claws and the almost-sandy texture of the flat of those thumbs as they pressed into his metatarsals. Red sucked in a much-needed breath, feeling light-headed. If he were in his own body, he would be feeling an embarrassing tightness in his pants. J, as if oblivious, caresses that one foot as if without a care.

It was when J looked up that Red saw any proof of J knowing: J's face was still flushed, but the one wisping eyelight was sharp with a wanting hunger that Red was long familiar with. He swallowed thick, starting to tremble. That look was usually Red's cue to pull out Lucy, or take them home for some private time. That look meant J wanted Red to make an honest man out of him. Red, however, was now in J's body. And J had him in hand.

"it doesn't hurt when i do this-" J punctuated with a firm massage using both thumbs- "-does it?"

'Hurt,' wasn't the right word at all for how that felt. Red was almost thankful for being mute, since it meant he wasn't making obscene noises in a public place where any ol' mac could hear. He shook his head at J, because, no, that did not hurt.

J smirked, and Red wondered if his own smirk was that obscene. His hands switched to the other foot, toying idly with his halux. "good. let me know if anything i do hurts, okay? it's not supposed to."

Red nodded dumbly, feeling a dull, slow heat build in his pelvic, like pavement warming in a sunbeam, a little at a time. That heat grew stronger, little by little, until it was sweltering, buzzing and alive. He went to soothe it with his hands, but they were wrapped, and set to be immobile to the point of uselessness. Red couldn't soothe the burn even a little.

Chipped, scarred claws climbed up Red's borrowed legs, bypassing the injured knees to press them apart at the femur. J sat calmly between them, looking Red squarely in the face. The heat in Red's borrowed pelvis throbbed.

"i'm gonna pull the dress off now, okay?" J murmured, softly, a sound just for Red. "to check the ribs and spine better. you okay with that?"

Red nodded, because he couldn't say anything. He raised his arms, ready to move as needed to get the dress out of the way. J gripped the dress by the skirts and started to slide them up, up, peeling it up and over Red's head until he was bare to what felt like the frigid air of the speakeasy. Red wasn't used to being so exposed, being looked at with such intensity, but he'd been on the other side of this enough to know what J was looking at was quite the dish (even with his own rusty red magic in it). Red lowered his arms as J leaned in closer, closer-

A slam came from the bar in the next room, along with loud cheers. Red jumped, reminded suddenly that they were, in fact, in public. There were people out there that could con their way back here at any time and see his naked boyfriend's body-

J gripped Red's borrowed face, redirecting his attention. "i'm gonna check your chest, alright?" He still kept his voice low, gentle. Red wished he could save it to listen to again, and again, and again-

And then those hands were testing at Red's borrowed clavicle, stroking the soft ivory surfaces. Red felt as fragile as a bird, more aware than ever that just a little extra pressure in the wrong place would snap this body like a hollow twig. Even so, the warmth, the buzzing sense of the full, vibrant magic in those hands, was intoxicating. Red almost felt like he could soak up that essence through osmosis, like a sponge thrown into the sea. The heat still burning low in his pelvis flared, stirring a molten core he hadn't known existed. Molten heat began to flood his body, slow, sludging lava making him feel filled and electrified. Those hands traveled down, testing and caressing his ribs, inside and out. Red thrust into them, wanting to feel more of it, to soak it in. He hadn't felt so energetic since the body swap and he was starving for more-

One hand finally found Red's lumbar, and the friction as it grazed its palm ever-so-lightly over the arch of his borrowed vertebrae was the spark that ignited Red's strained soul, fanning the heat in him to new heights. Red felt sweat slick down his neck, felt dampness pool in his pelvic inlet.

"breathe deep. in. and out. in," J walked Red through it, the slow rhythm, the hypnotic pulse as a body that was so poorly suited to sustaining him was stoked with pleasure. Red was rather sure if he were in his own body, he'd have come by this point, being cradled and stroked and attended with such devoted focus. Red felt damn swell, aside from the urgent want to come. "-and out. let it build slowly. circulation is still poor... no flush at all, and it takes so much attention to get anything going... but this therapy has been working well..."

Red had no idea what J was talking about. He didn't know what therapy J meant, but whatever worked to make his moll feel better was fine in his book. He heard the sound of the patrons out in the other room, again, and it made him feel exposed. Still, J was between him and the door. J felt so big. Red never realized how safe that could make a guy feel, not when he'd always used his size for intimidation.

"can we..?" J asked, stroking at Red's borrowed spine again. "i... i wanna see your colors..."

Red nodded, frantic, the metaphorical screws tightening with every little twitch of those claws on him.

"red..." J breathed, pleading, sounding almost as desperate as Red felt. The noise alone would have had Red's magic standing at rapt attention if he were in his own body. He wished he could save that sound and listen to it every night for the rest of his life. That voice was the bee's fucking knees, and Red was weak.

Red didn't even notice that his borrowed body had finally let his magic manifest until he felt a hand against the slick softness. The sheer intensity of the pleasure that rocked through him as J played him like a harp had him throwing his head back, sockets scrunched tight as he fought not to thrash. Those were just fingers working in little circles and lines, and he would have sung any tune J wanted if he'd his own voice.

"love you," J murmured, kissing at Red's neck. Red saw stars, goofy and gowed-up on J, all of J, inside and out. He couldn't recall ever feeling so good, although in Red's defense he could barely recall his own name.

That was when J took out his own ecto, stroking a thick member the same length and thickness that Red would usually sport. It wasn't Red's rusty crimson, however; instead, when Red could blink away the haze to look properly, it was a mesmerizing indigo, with glittering whites like stars, and clouds of pinks and greens and blues. J was the most beautiful magic Red had ever fucking seen, even when shaped in Red's girth.

"remember to breathe. breathe deep," J purred, kissing Red over and over, soft and sweet. Red wondered if the way he kissed J was half as loving, as worshipful. He hoped so. J was his kitten after all, and he deserved the best. "yeah, like that, you're doing great, just relax..." J eased himself into place, using his hands to maneuver Red. He ended up, at some point, just picking Red up entirely, spinning around, and sitting with Red in his lap, back to chest. Those arms that felt so big against Red's body held him secure as he was filled to the brim, stretched, scratching an itch that Red hadn't known could be scratched.

"comfortable..?" J asked from behind, peppering Red in those little butterfly kisses.

Red wanted to claw at J, to cling and keep him there. He couldn't with his hands wrapped up, but he laid his arms over J's where they held him about the ribs, leaned back, and nodded. The fleeting thought of just how helpless Red actually was, in J's fragile bones, with legs and hands that needed tending, came and went. J hadn't jostled or disturbed Red's injuries once. Red swore that he'd make J feel as protected as he felt in that moment.

J thrust his hips up, and Red stopped thinking coherent thoughts. Everything was berries, swell; Red gasped and struggled to keep his steady breathing as J rocked them through ecstasy, thrust after electric thrust. He heard more of the din from the drum, the crowd even larger in the other room, yet that only seemed to add fuel to his fire. Red turned his head, catching J in a true and proper kiss, and that was the last thing he knew before the next orgasm hit, and he was well and truly spent.

Red would wake up, still in J's arms, wondering if maybe he wouldn't mind the body swap lasting a little longer.

Chapter Text

Lust fanned himself weakly, staring out into the middle distance. He could hear Dance rummaging in the kitchen, the noises indicative of increased irritability. It was too hot for Lust now to offer much to console him, and they had both already tried sating each other in bed that morning with little result. LT Flare-ups made it harder to assist others also in flare-ups, and that left them both in less-than-good condition. Dance was trying to redirect his wants with food, while Lust fell back on his usual plan of laying in a puddle of his own sweat and suffering.

They had been like that for a while, doing their own kind of best, waiting for their knight in shining leather to come to their rescue (if he wasn't busy, if that was alright, if he didn't mind). Lust tugged at his collar over and over, eking out what little comfort he could. It was getting harder and harder to bear it. Lust was near to tears and considering maybe having an ice bath, or putting his whole soul in the freezer. Whatever would be colder.

The sound of the front door opening was distinct and glorious. Lust turned his head, taking in Red's own sweaty form. He had been gardening all morning, dirt and grass stains all up and down his legs. Lust felt a deep rumble in his chest, and Red got closer. Closer. Lust didn't realize at first that it was because he was moving towards Red, as opposed to Red moving towards him.

"sweetheart~?" Lust tried to plead. He clawed at Red's loose t-shirt, pressing his face to the fabric. Red had been working hard, and his musk was thick in the damp fabric. Lust was alight at the sweetness of it, begging for a taste.

"where the fuck were you?!" Dance demanded, at Lust's side in seconds and also grabbing at Red with desperate hands. He smelled sharply of his own want too, as bad as Lust likely did.

Red put a hand on the back of each of their necks. "doin' th' yardwork," he murmured, leaning down to press soothing kisses to their skulls. "home ownin' ain't easy." He scritched under their jaws, his claws a tender balm.

Lust groaned, trying to focus on the relief of Red's presence. The anguish of not shoving Red's squirming body under him and riding him into the ground; Lust didn't think anyone would understand, except maybe Dance. "red~!!" Fuck, just saying his name made Lust salivate. He tried to sate himself with a few gentle nibbles to Red's ribs. "red..!" Lust was an adult, he was a sentient monster with logic and reason. He was not some beast that would drag his helpless prey kicking and screaming into his den to be eaten alive.

Red was flushed a cute pink. "yeah, sweetheart?"

Dance was less patient. "strip," he ordered.

"wut-"

"you fucking heard me." Dance tugged on Red's shirt. "strip. right now. slow. i want a show to go with my dinner."

Red was his namesake, reaching up to tug absently at the collar of his shirt. "l-like wut, right here?"

"pick a room," Dance growled low. "cuz you ain't leaving it for a while."

Red smelled like prey. He smelled like watermelon shaved ice, wrapped up nice and lovely just for Lust and Dance to enjoy. He let out a nervous laugh. "made ya wait too long..." he mumbled, starting to guide them to the bedroom. "'s bad t'day huh?" His voice was shaking, but Lust was reassured by how he kept them close with his own hands, arms around their shoulders. Red loved them even when they were needy and demanding like this, he said so. Lust was getting better at remembering that.

The bedroom was where Red chose to take them, something Lust anticipated. With great effort, Lust allowed himself to be separated from his boyfriend and placed on the bed. Dance joined him, trembling with anticipation as he watched Red shuffle shyly in front of them. Red wasn't actually wearing much: just his wife beater, his ratty basketball shorts, and his even rattier socks now. He'd left his shoes at the door like always. Lust watched eagerly as Red pulled the sweat-soaked garments off, one at a time, revealing decorated ivory that Lust knew by heart just by the feel of them in his hands. Red offered them a sly wink as he gathered up his dirty clothes to toss in the hamper, shaking his hips how he knew they liked.

Seeing Red so confident and sure of how nice he was to look at made Lust's soul flutter; it seemed not so long ago that Red was too critical of himself to even acknowledge that they liked the view.

Right now Lust really, really liked the view. A lot. Red looked good enough to eat. Maybe with some chocolate. Or mustard. Or mayo. Or ketchup. Or maybe just raw. Maybe kiss him while he rode him into the floor hard enough to leave rugburns and then he could kiss the rugburns while they made another mess in the shower and then-

"on the bed, now," Dance growled.

Red smiled so cute, so sly, that Lust wanted to kiss the expression clean off him. He scooped Dance up in a bridal carry, making the other growl louder. "relax, kitten," he purred, soothing, offering Dance little kisses. "i'll take good care o' ya, dun worry."

"yer gonna get taken by me," Dance hissed, grasping at Red's ribs and bracing himself to kiss the man fiercely. Red trembles, his scars and joints going all aglow, but Lust could see Red resist what was no doubt a familiar draw. Red settled in the middle of the bed, putting Dance in his lap, and while supporting him, let Dance mount him and kiss him and paw without restraint. What Dance didn't seem to notice, but Lust got to see happen in real time, was Red's hand sliding up under Dance's long shirt to grasp his coccyx.

Dance had forgone pants all day. Nothing was in the way of Red's claws. Lust knew from experience what Red's claws felt like in those tiny, tender spaces. He felt a tingle in his own coccyx just from watching, sympathetic shivers going up his spine as Dance's back arched.

"red-" Dance's voice had that tinge to it, that lilting, musical little peel. It was like smelling blood in the water.

Red must have heard it too. "that's it, kitten, relax fer me. lemme getcha t'night?" He might have been asking, but his hands were no doubt making his case for him by the minute.

Lust crawled onto the bed, closer, closer. He couldn't look away. He wanted- He had Red's face in hand and kissed him, moaning low. He grabbed Red's collar, tugging, holding him there. The taste of him, his scent, his everything was a panacea and Lust needed-

"gonna get t' ya too, sweetheart," Red slurred, purring low. "hold out fer me a bit longer, yeah?"

Lust resisted the urge to pin Red under him and bite him. He resisted the urge to roll him over and use him sweetly. "yeah. i can-" Lust could try a little patience. It was damn hard. It hurt.

"good pet," Red praised, the words dropping to Lust's burning pubic symphysis like a stone down a well. He gave Lust a few sweet kisses, then returned to preparing Dance.

By this point, Dance was in an entirely different headspace. Lust could see it in his dazed expression. He was so relaxed, flushed and panting. Red had him in hand, coaxing his puckered ecto open bit by bit. Lust groaned softly, wishing that were him but so turned on seeing Dance let it happen too. He leaned forward, grasping at Dance and kissing him, slow and sweet and desperate.

Lust didn't keep track of how long he and Dance made out in the safety of Red's lap. It was better than agonizing over his desperation. His body ached like a bruise, like a shallow burn, and only those brief touches Red could offer between working with Dance, those little kisses and nibbles, helped stave off the worst of his urges. Lust lived his moments hand to mouth on those gestures, letting today prioritize Dance.

Finally, finally, Red nibbled them both softly. "a'aight, back up a bit, sweetheart."

Lust moved, panting heavy himself. Red moved Dance and, with the sexiest fucking gentleness and consideration, he eased Dance down onto him. Dance sang rather sweetly, softly, his joints flaring bright blues. When he was settled, wrapped up in Red's arm's, Red cooed all soft and fond as he rolled his hips. The noise that Dance made was distracting.

"comfy?" Red asked, pleased with himself. His breathlessness made Lust want to sink his teeth into his neck.

Dance nodded, sighing sweetly, softly, the anguish worked out of him.

Red had the cutest, smuggest fucking smirk on his face. "yeah..! there ya go..." He scritched softly at Dance's jaw.

Lust couldn't take it anymore. He gripped Red by the shoulder, pushing the man down into the mattress. "sweetheart~" The way Red flushed at Lust's purr only made it harder not to bite him. "i'm gonna fuck you, alright~?" Red nodded, shifting his grip on Dance as he got comfortable on his back. Lust leaned in, kissing him, soaking him in, before sliding down to at least prep him properly.

Red was waiting for him, trembling. Lust kissed at his femur, nibbling softly, sweetly. He fit his teeth into the indent he'd left behind, groaning at the sheer satisfaction of his mark on Red's body. He used a finger to work him open, slow and sweet and loving, savoring the soft swears Red let out and the tremor of his legs. Lust was dizzy with how badly he wanted, how badly he needed. Lust bit down a little harder, feeling the way Red clenched from it and reveling in the burst of chill in his essence.

Lust growled low, deep, feeling the noise in his chest. He stretched Red with meticulous care, occasionally leaning in to lick the rim, to taste him, to tease him. The heat in Lust's marrow rushed harder, faster, hotter with every little twitch and thrust of Red's hips. "sweetheart~"

Lust ripped his own pants off, uncaring of the shreds he made of his own clothes, and pressed into Red with maybe too much eagerness. Sinking into that chilling warmth, the bite of Red's LV mixing with the welcoming safety of his essence, had Lust moaning shamelessly. He clawed a little harder at Red's hips, curling over his boyfriends and breathing in the sweet and salty mix of them both. He settled in up to the hilt, holding Red's hips up as he leaned in to kiss Dance's shoulder.

The ache in Lust dulled, finally having them both close. He rolled his hips, giving a slow, shallow thrust. The bodies under him trembled, Dance singing sweetly in a tenor over Red's rusty baritone. Lust felt his own smile grow, but it was sharp yet. He nuzzled in, biting as gently as possible on Dance's shoulder as he started to thrust.

Lust had a lot more LT to work through, more heat to cool with the balm of his lover's affections. He made himself set a slow pace, working through it, bit by possessive, tender bit. He had all day. He only hoped a day would be enough.

Chapter Text

Kink clicked his teeth irritably as he came back to his room (his room, not the cell in the dungeon he slept in after paying Cash's protection fee, not Dust's room that he sorta preferred anyway but wasn't actually his, his actual room that was just for him, that he finally got to have). He slammed the door closed behind him, ignoring the little flinch it stirred from the creature held in his hand. He was trying not to think too much about what he was holding. He had to, though.

After Nightmare's accident which inadvertently made a bunch of bitty Nightmares (which Kink and Falsi had taken to calling 'Pippins'), Kink had been happy to volunteer to find them good homes. Kink did a lot of really quick research, and found that Bitty safety policies said it wasn't a good idea to have multiples of the same bitty bond with the same person (a fact that had broken Falsi's little heart -- it had been so heartbreaking watching him pull the little darlings out of his many coat pockets and put them back in the box). There were a lot of Pippins, which ended up meaning nearly everyone in the castle had gotten one (except Dream, who had been blacklisted by Night, which Kink personally approved of).

All of that was well and good, until Dream got it into his head to make bitties of his own. Falsi called it a Pazazz, which Kink thought was too cute of a name for such a nasty little pest.

"DADDY..?" The little voice was too sweet to belong to such a nasty pest too. "WHY ARE YOU MAD..?"

Kink sat down on the bed, taking a deep breath. He finally made himself look at the tiny thing in his hand. The Dream bitty was no bigger than an action figure, fitting easily in one hand. Tiny chibi wings fluttered anxiously, currently aglow in reds and oranges like a low burning candle. Its little hands held onto Kink, its little trembling eyelights watching his face.

Kink had looked everywhere for someone else to dump the little pest on, but before he could find a home for it, it had decided to imprint on him. He suspected that Dream had planned it that way, shoving it into his hands like that when nobody else was around. Part of Kink wanted to crush it and throw it away, but-

"DADDY..?"

Kink sighed. It wasn't the Pazazz' fault that it was made from an asshole. It was its own thing, and hadn't done anything wrong. Kink could be terribly bitter when he got it into his head to hold a grudge, but he didn't like the idea of directing that grudge onto an innocent soul.

A small, distressed noise came out of Kink's pocket. Kink softened further, reaching in with his other hand to pet and soothe his Pippin hidden there. "shh, it's alright, sweetie. you're alright~" He felt the little darling nuzzle his fingers, its trembling fading until it went still again. Kink's Nightmare Bitty slept through most of the day, content so long as it was being held or tucked securely in Kink's pocket. It was actually the first time it had woken up all day.

All because Kink had gotten upset and slammed a door. He'd completely overlooked that these were bitties made from empathic creatures.

As Kink soothed his Pippin, the Dream Bitty in his hand relaxed. He felt the tiny tremors quell, and noticed the gold shift out of his peripheral vision. Kink turned to face the little pest- the- the Pazazz, shifting his thumb to stroke its cheek. It nuzzled him with enthusiasm, a purr trembling in its tiny ribs like a kitten.

Okay, maybe it was kinda cute. Sorta. Possibly. Kink still wanted to bully it.

"now, what do i do with you?" Kink thought aloud, finally extracting his other hand from his Pippin. He was pretty sure the little darling was back to sleep, so he just had to stay calm so it would have sweet dreams.

"DADDY?" The Dream bitty called out again. "DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG..?"

Kink fought a flinch. "...no, baby. you didn't do anything wrong. i wasn't mad at you..." Which was true. He was mad at Dream, not the Pazazz. Kink brought his now-free hand up to try petting the little thing. Bitties needed lots of physical affection after all. He stroked over its skull, its shoulder, and then over its wings. The little thing gasped, making a soft noise as the contact continued. Kink's thumb came back sticky. He felt his smile widen, felt that desire to bully swell. "shh, baby, daddy wants you to be quiet while we play, okay?"

The little bitty nodded, bringing a hand to its mouth to muffle itself.

"if you feel uncomfortable," Kink continued, resuming the wing pets, "like you're hurt too much, or feel sick, or really don't like what is going on, you say 'safeword'. that's the only noise daddy says is allowed, okay?" The Pazazz nodded, breathing deep and irregular.

Kink kept up the petting, watching the color shift from reds and golds to soft pinks, a color he had much better feelings about, making his inner spite far less malicious and far more playful. Every so often, a full body spasm would wrack the little thing, and a soft noise would escape unbidden between its clenched teeth. Kink's hands were sticky before long, as were the bitty's naked bones. The sugar scent filling the air reminded Kink that they were twins, his Pippin and Pazazz, just like Dream and Night; it made his soul flutter, just like it did when his Nightmare bitty smelled similar.

Another soft, muffled noise escaped his little bitty. Kink snickered, pinching one of the wings softly as 'punishment.' The little thing cried out louder, its legs kicking as it clung to his fingers tighter. "didn't daddy say we were gonna play quietly?" Kink sneered. The trembling little hearts in those eyelights told him he hadn't lost his touch, discerning what the bitty liked with pinpoint precision. He supposed, given the gossip he had heard about Dream, it made perfect sense that the Pazazz would enjoy a little pain play.

The bitty whimpered, its ecto taking shape in its pelvis. It's dick throbbed at rapt attention, bobbing as it rocked its hips.

"tell daddy you're sorry for being so loud," Kink ordered.

"I-I'M SORRY, DADDY..!" The bitty gasped, whimpering louder. "I'M SORRY I'M SO L-LOUD..!!" It's voice cracked and jumped as it spoke, although that was partially Kink's fault for petting its slimy little wings again.

"good boy," Kink praised. "is there anything else you want to say?" Kink had an idea, but it was always nice to hear it out loud.

The Pazazz took a moment to try and catch its breath. "WANNA- WANNA COME, DADDY. PLEASE? PLEASE CAN I COME??"

Kink felt his soul flutter more. Like this, what he had thought to be a pest looked pretty cute. "daddy didn't say you could come yet," He purred, continuing to stroke those wings. "so you're gonna have to wait until daddy says so." Kink punctuated that particular word with a swipe of his one thumb over his bitty's dick, careful to keep it supported as it writhed in his hands. It cried out louder, which Kink absently shushed it for as he shifted his grip again to move across the room to his toy chest.

Kink had a lot of toys. After finally getting a room of his own, he might have gone a little overboard with filling it with his own things. He'd missed having things and stuff, a little. Especially toys for when he wanted to spice things up. Shifting his grip on the Pazazz to something one-handed (something he could still pet and tease his poor little pest in while keeping it secure), he licked his other hand clean enough that he could wipe the rest on his pantleg and search for what he wanted.

Kink had to admit that the sugar syrup his bitty made tasted pretty good. He wasn't much for sweets, but he didn't mind it.

The toy box was pretty big. Most of the toys Kink had reflected his size-queen preferences (although nothing quite managed to match what his darling husband had packing~). He had to sift through a few layers to even find the smaller things, which tended to fall to the bottom and wedge themselves into corners. With bitties to play with, Kink thought maybe he might want to invest in a special bitty toy chest now, but that would be something to worry about later. He dug deep until he found the smallest things he had on hand: a few little clamp bullet vibrators designed for nipples and clits. Kink tended to use them on ribs, the pubic symphysis, and occasionally the zyphoid process, but he thought they would fit nicely on his bitty's wings.

"okay, baby, tell me if these pinch too tight," Kink murmured. He made to fit one of the little clamps to one of the bitty's little wings, He eased the pressure on by increments, refusing to let it snap down when he wasn't sure how well it would fit. Thankfully, the clamp was small, and the noises the bitty made were more encouraging than not. The vibes weren't even on yet, just the pressure from the clamps themselves driving the little brat wild. Pink sugar syrup was dripping to the floor at Kink's feet and making a puddle that he would have considered disproportionate to the size of its source.

It was pretty hot.

"like that?" Kink asked, rhetorical as it was. His bitty nodded frantically, trying in vain to keep its voice under control. "good boy~" Kink turned the vibes on the lowest setting, heat starting to pool in his own pelvis (more so than it already did by default). "now, daddy wants you to be quiet while i work, got it?" Kink had some plans in mind, but he needed to let his sweet Pippin sleep too.

The little Pazazz nodded, using its hands to try and muffle itself again. It was less than effective, but Kink didn't mind so long as it did its best. The soft, fragile little whimpers and broken mewls were actually quite lovely to hear. Kink was also rather pleased at how obedient and loyal the bitty was already. How could he not be endeared by someone who tried so hard to please their 'daddy'?

Deciding that, yes, this was his bitty now, his Pazazz, his little sunspot, Kink was already wracking his brain about how to mark it as his own. Unlike with his tender, sensitive Pippin, there were so many more exotic options.

The Dream Bitty trembled, back arching and hips gyrating impotently as it was brought closer to a release that it was denied by Kink's intent. Kink thumbed absently at its chest, smearing more of that erotic pink sugar, soothing it away from climax. Little tears beaded in the rims of its sockets, the poor dear anguishing, a cute little pet straining at the end of it's metaphorical leash.

Kink settled on what to do.

First, Kink had to get the tools he would need out. He had a not-quite-toy box tucked away elsewhere, little impulse buys he had gotten on a whim. He pulled it out and opened it, admiring the seemingly useless junk that he was going to put to great use indeed. Amidst what one might think was junk from a yardsale was an old-timey lamp complete with candle, some matches, and a set of metal stamps. Kink had snuck the matches and candle in to use as a light when there hadn't been electricity. The stamps he had gotten thinking they would be cute for letters or gift making (although he was a poor craftsmen, he could dream). Now, he took the lamp, lit the candle, and pulled out the P stamp, spinning it in his fingers.

"oh, little pet~" Kink cooed, showing the metal to the Pazazz. The little Dream Bitty blinked blearily at the item, either too distracted to know or genuinely uncertain about what he was seeing. Kink smiled wider, and held the item up to the flame. "baby~ do you want daddy to mark you all special~?"

It was a special kind of feeling that one got, feeling someone tremble and quake in their hand from sheer excitement. "DADDY-!!" The bitty's voice was slurred, wet like even the sound had been soiled by it's arousal.

"yes, or no?" Kink demanded. He spun the tip of the little metal stamp in the flame. "do you want this?"

The bitty looked at the stamp, at the fire, at Kink. "P-PLEASE..!" It begged, tears streaming in little rivulets. "DADDY..! M-MARK ME..!!"

Kink felt himself go through a full body shiver. "good boy," he praised. "now we have to wait for it to get all warm for you~" Warm would be an understatement, of course. Kink chuckled at the impatient whine he got in return.

To pass the time, Kink stroked at the bitty's lumbar and ribs, admiring his handiwork. The Pazazz was shaking all over, hips trembling, toes curled, little wings quivering in their clips as the bullet vibes assaulted them. The messy syrup was everywhere, soaking his hand, his lap, the floor, and now the top of his desk where they were sitting. Every so often, the little thing would let out a helpless cry, squirming as it was denied another release.

When the stamp was warmed enough to glow, Kink set his bitty down on the tabletop and turned off the vibes. "ok, baby. daddy's gonna mark you now. you can come if you like, but you have to hold still, understand?"

The bitty nodded, panting heavily.

Kink was about to just press the metal into its leg, but he hesitated. He set the stamp down, getting up again to find a few extra things. He rolled up some spare cloth (handkerchiefs), folding them over to make a cushion to hold its little body steady. He also gave one to the bitty to bite into. stroking its skull. Kink cooed over the little thing, the little pest-soon-to-be-pet. He warmed the tip of the stamp again as he braced the bitty's leg with his other hand, making to hold it straight and still and firm.

"ready~" Kink asked again. When the bitty nodded, he applied the red-hot metal to its femur. Kink heard a sort of hissing noise, and felt the bitty thrash and tremble. It screamed through the fabric in its teeth. It also came, hard, splattering itself in its own release from both its dick and its wings. Kink counted quietly to ten before pulling the stamp away to admire the lettering, pleased at the rather clear, crisp little 'p' burned into the bone.

"lovely~" Kink purred, getting up to grab a soothing salve that would ease the worst of the pain. He applied it as gingerly as he could manage, then unclipped the little thing's wings and held it close. "daddy is so~ pleased with you, baby~"

The bitty trembled, nuzzling into Kink's hand as it sobbed and hiccuped. Kink didn't blame it for being overwhelmed. Thinking the little thing was done, Kink blew out the candle and made to leave the desk, intending to settle on the bed again. Moving, however, elicited a whine from the bitty in his hands.

"DADDY..!!" The Pazazz whimpered, voice raw and cracked and overtaxed. "M-MORE..?"

Kink felt his pants become suddenly, terribly tight. "you can handle more? think you can handle another letter? two?" The bitty nodded, enthusiastic despite its exhaustion. "we'll do more, then..." Kink assured, although he still moved back to the bed to lay down. "after we rest~ daddy will mark you all~ up, a little at a time~"

Pinks and golds melded together in the little bitty's wings as it fell asleep, and Kink let his soul flutter. He had two more letters to go on the left leg of his cute little pet, and if it liked that so much, maybe another whole word on the right.

Chapter Text

Slim groaned low as the dildo in his ass vibrated a little harder, his vision fuzzing out. He let another dry, aborted orgasm wash through him, hips jerking against his own wishes.

"DID I SAY YOU COULD STOP, MUTT?!" Razz snarled, right before bringing down the switch on his pelvis, catching in the crux between Slim's vertebrae and the upper curve of his ala. The strike was swift, and left a strip of stinging pain in its wake that lit Slim's marrow afire. "THOSE DISHES DON'T LOOK CLEAN, YET!"

"yes, m'lord," Slim rasped, getting back to his chores. "sorry, m'lord."

"I'LL MAKE YOU SORRY IF YOU MISS EVEN ONE SPECK ON THAT FINE CHINA," his master snapped back. Slim thought he might come again from the threat in his voice alone. The following thwap of the switch against his legs was just an added bonus, another delicious shock to his system that kept it from falling into monotony. "THOSE WERE GIFTS THAT A MUTT LIKE YOU WOULD NEVER GET TO TOUCH NORMALLY, SO I BETTER NOT FIND YOUR FILTHY CLAWMARKS ON THEM."

Slim shivered harder. "yes, m'lord." He was breathing heavily by now. Slim could (and liked to) take a lot of abuse, but a full weekend of none-stop edging and beatings was pushing his limits in a way they had never been safe to do Underground.

From the looks he got from his peripheral, Razz was holding up just as well. His brother and master may have liked to act tough and unaffected, but he was just as riled up as Slim (if not more). The slight tremble in his wrists was a dead give away, even if it never changed the way he swung their latest toy.

Slim tried again to focus on his task. He was honored to be trusted to wash his lord's precious gifts. The silly white plates and bowls all matched, with tiny decorative patterns in purples that were a pale yet impressive imitation of Razz's magic. His brother had been so excited to have a matching dinner set for the first time. Slim refused to scratch them, washing the last of the sauce and grease stains away with the gentlest of touches (and a lot of dish soap).

He placed the last one in the rack to dry, then immediately turned to kneel at Razz's feet where he belonged.

"ALL DONE, ARE YOU?" Razz sneered. There was only the faintest sign of breathlessness in his voice, but that was more than enough to drive Slim wild. "ABOUT TIME." He snapped his fingers, making the hand gesture that meant he wanted to be carried. "LIVING ROOM COUCH."

Slim stood up, reverently, picking Razz up to sit on his shoulder as if it were his throne, and carried him to the couch.

Once Razz was comfortable on the cushions, he crossed his legs and made the gesture for Slim to kneel again. "REMOVE MY BOOTS, SLAVE. I WANT A FOOT RUB."

"yes, m'lord." Slim had no intention of giving any other answer. He started unlacing Razz's favorite stiletto boots, running his hands over the familiar leather. They had managed to restore them from some of the damage they had suffered over time, leaving them looking like new. The soft material reeked of Razz's magic, and Slim pressed his face into the toes of one as he rocked through another failed climax. "m'lord-"

"I SAID, 'BOOTS OFF,'" Razz growled, low and rough. Slim could feel him trembling. When Slim looked up again, Razz was clawing so hard into the cushions he worried the upholstery would rip. There was a faint flush finally coloring his maxilla and zygomatic. Slim maintained eye contact as he slowly, languidly, removed that precious boot. He didn't look away as he unlaced the other one, knowing the pattern by heart, the knot like an old friend. He made sure he saw that flush deepen in real time as he took a bare foot in hand and began to work his thumbs into the metacarpals.

Watching his master squirm was a torment all its own. Slim's dick was plugged and useless in his pants, and the dildo in his ass had only enough intent in it to frustrate him, but nothing quite twisted the metaphorical knife like seeing Razz visibly flustered. Slim braced for another blunted peak-

And was shoved through it violently when the switch came down hard on his clavicle. "WHO SAID YOU COULD LOOK AT ME, SLAVE?!" Another strike knocked a moan out of Slim, would have brought him to shaking knee if he weren't there already. "WHO SAID YOU COULD HAVE THE PLEASURE?"

"sorry, m'lord," Slim simpered, casting his gaze down at his master's lovely little feet. They stepped on him so nicely, when he had a mind for it. Slim focused on working the tension out of them, one at a time. Watching the toes curl was more than enough of a tell to know what kind of face Razz was making, anyway. Slim had finished massaging both feet and switched back to the first to start again when the switch tapped gently at his chin and guided his head back up.

"SLAVE." The way Razz said it sounded almost like a term of endearment (or maybe Slim just thought anything Razz said was beautiful). He stared at Slim with such intensity that Slim nearly came again, so close, painfully close.

"...m'lord?"

"BEND OVER."

Slim couldn't obey fast enough. He made to unbuckle his pants, only to have his hands struck again-

"DO NOT MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF," Razz growled. He was noticeably breathless by this point, wringing the switch in his hands as if to strangle it.

Whimpering rather pitifully, Slim turned around, his pants still in place, and knelt with his coccyx in the air for Razz to do as he wished. He waited, trying and failing to see their reflection in the TV. His impatience was finally starting to get to him: Slim wasn't the same kind of patient that Razz could be at times (usually at Slim's delicious expense). He shifted his weight, wiggling his hips in open invitation. He got a smack for his efforts, but it was only on the side of his leg, with barely any strength behind it.

What finally settled Slim was the moment he felt Razz's foot probe at his dick through his pants, stroking over the bulge with a level of sensuality few others could manage. "HOW DOES IT FEEL, BEING RENDERED NOTHING BUT A TOOL TO SERVICE ME?" His chuckle clawed down Slim's spine like fire. "DO NOT ANSWER. I ALREADY KNOW."

Of course he knew. Slim's lord and master knew him inside and out. He knew he was loving this, every bit of it.

"UNBUCKLE YOUR BELT. DO NOT TOUCH."

Slim obeyed without question, without hesitation. The belt jingled teasingly, hanging off his hips. Razz used his toes to tug it down over his coccyx, low enough to free his ass but not to free his dick, still stuck in his pantleg. Slim felt the dildo played with, pushed in and out of him in a slow, torturous drag. "DID YOU LIKE THE REWARD YOU WERE GIVEN? ISN'T YOUR MASTER SO NICE TO LET YOU PLAY WITH A TOY WHILE YOU WORK?"

"y-yes m'lord. thank you m'lord, thank-" Slim cut himself off with his own moan as he suffered through another false orgasm, trembling. He felt tears well in his sockets, daring to drip down his face.

"...OH. THAT IS RIGHT. I WAS QUITE MAGNANIMOUS. I LET YOU HAVE TWO TOYS." Razz sounded particularly smug about it. "I DO NOT FEEL LIKE YOU DESERVE TWO RIGHT NOW. PICK ONE TO LOSE."

"the sounding rod-" Slim responded immediately.

Another deep, delicious chuckle. "THEN REMOVE IT YOURSELF, SLAVE."

Slim reached down, tugging his poor, neglected dick free. It was a process to remove the sounding rod without blowing two days worth of a load all over the carpet, but Slim hadn't been told he could come, so he somehow managed. Razz retracted his foot, but Slim then felt his hands on him, one stroking his hip while the other probed and stretched his ass with the dildo still inside.

"I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU," He hissed, rasped, panted. "YOU DON'T GET TO COME BEFORE YOUR MASTER, UNDERSTAND?"

Slim almost broke the rule right there. "y-yes, m'lord."

Razz squeezed at Slim's ala in response, then worked more vigorously at his ass until finally, finally, Slim heard the clink of his belt. Slim clawed at the floor, bracing himself. Razz wasn't particularly big, but two at once was still a stretch and it burned a little as his master entered him. Slim fought tooth and nail not to mess the floor, not to scratch up the carpet, not to turn around and pounce on his master like an animal and have his filthy way with him instead.

Slim was not a patient monster, not like his master, not like Razz. If Slim was in control, he would have come many times over, fucking Razz into the mattress until Razz flipped them over to pay him back tenfold. It would have been glorious, amazing, fantastic, but it wouldn't have been this, this delicious, tender anguish that they never could have risked indulging in before. It only reinforced how good it was to be kept in hand by his master.

Razz hilted with a moan of his own, and then wasted no time pounding Slim just how he liked it, fast and dirty and a little raw. Slim did his damnedest to keep his fucking mouth shut, but even he couldn't keep entirely quiet when Razz was this rough with him. He was more cross with himself since his own moans made it harder to hear Razz, harder to hear those lovely lilting breaths, those filthy vulgarities, those melodious keens.

Slim felt Razz come, filling him with heat and even more pressure. His soul fluttered, knowing he had pleased his lord, right before the pleasure hit him and he came hard enough to black out.

Slim would wake up laying on his side, Razz wiping him down with a wet towel. He'd ruin his lord's efforts by pulling him in for a kiss that would just get them both sweaty again.

Chapter Text

"don't break my new handcuffs, baby," Kink reminded the love of his life, more focused on securing them to the headboard than on said husband's face. When he finally looked down, he was assaulted by a surprise kiss, the larger skeleton easily leaning up to steal it.

"I will not," Percy assured, nuzzling Kink like a dog demanding head pets.

Kink brought both hands to Percy's handsome face, giving him even more kisses. "i mean it. i tranq'd you last time too and you still broke them. don't break them this time."

"I promise." Percy stole another kiss. "I can barely move, see?" Kink thought that for a guy on enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant, he was wagging his metaphorical tail pretty hard. Then again, even the good stuff had little effect on Percy, and he was adorably excitable. "Did I mention how good your trap was this time? I was totally captured. I never saw it coming."

"yes you did," Kink huffed, stealing another kiss before he started to shimmy down his husband's long, naked body. He let his fingertips trace over the sides of Percy's vertebrae, checking the bolts embedded there for signs of rust. "you just let me catch you."

"Now, why, exactly, would I let myself be captured?" Percy asked, his joints lighting up one by one as Kink grazed past them. His words were only the faintest bit slurred, only the very edges blending.

"who's to say?" Kink gripped his love's lumbar, thumbing over the abused ivory. The bolts there still made him want to twist someone, somewhere, into some kind of exotic knot. Instead, he tried to channel that energy into soothing the joints, making sure they stayed in proper alignment. "but you're caught now, so i'm going to have my way with you~"

"Oh no, how ever will I survive being captured. How dastardly, you are. Oh, what will become of me." Percy's deadpan might have been more effective if he wasn't smiling quite so hard.

Kink shut him up with a bite to his hip, leaving just the faintest impression into the wing of his ala. He lingered to enjoy the taste, licking the imprint of his fangs in Percy's bones before sliding between the man's splayed legs. He put his mouth to work on Percy's pubic symphysis, kissing and licking as his hands held his hips steady. He had to work Percy up through some powerful sedatives. Not that Kink minded; the frustration on Percy's face as he realized his mana wouldn't congeal immediately was rather cute, too. Like this, Kink could linger and appreciate the solidity of his love, his bone and cartilage, the shape of him in his hands.

"K-" Percy was cut off by his own whimper, teeth grit as he strained. "I- I think you used too much..." He sounded heartbroken.

"did i? oops~" Kink kissed the lip of Percy's pelvic girdle. "i suppose i'll have to make do while we wait~" Having planned for this in advance, Kink already knew how to pass the time until Percy could manifest. He reached over and pulled an oddly shaped pillow into his lap, squishing it, testing the give. It was like a misshapen hourglass, one side larger than the other.

Percy squinted at it, having never seen it before. "What is that for?"

Kink wiggled his brows, and, without a word, started to stuff the pillow into Percy's pelvis from above, the smaller half squeezing through and bulging out of the bottom. The fabric ground against Percy's sacrum, catching on the end of his tailbone before squeezing out again. The top shifted against the inner surfaces of his ilia, creating a soft, muted friction every time it was moved.

Percy sucked in a sharp breath, throwing his head back against the soft pillows he was propped up against. His hips bucked up, as if seeking friction. "This is cheating-"

"no~ it's a pillow." Kink unbuckled his pants, sliding out of them and tossing them off the edge of the bed. "and it'll work just fine until you get us started~" He lifted one of Percy's legs over his shoulder, slotting himself into place to scissor. Kink's ecto manifested without much prompting, letting him grind wet and dirty against the pillow where it poked out. Kink gripped tighter on Percy's leg, sliding closer, grinding a bit more insistently. "percy..!!"

Fuck- Kink could smell him, feel him in his hands, hear his voice carried on his heavy breathing. His Percy was right here, safe and his and loved. He bucked his hips harder, chasing after his own pleasure little by little. "percy...!!"

The man himself trembled, his own hips jutting weakly as he began to sweat. Percy groaned, clutching weakly at the headboard for support. He was flushed that lovely blue, chest heaving in sharp, stuttered pulses. Kink liked to watch Percy, loved to see him worked up and hungry. The piercing, predatory gaze that Percy gave him now sent a shiver down Kink's spine, pushing him over the last little peak he needed to come.

"Darling...?" Percy gasped, drawing Kink's attention from the afterglow. "Baby, if you could remove the pillow, gently..?" Anguish bled from his voice.

Kink untangled himself, slow and easy, until he could sit between Percy's legs and grip the pillow in both hands. The bottom of it was soaked in Kink's arousal, stained purple. The rest of it was soaked in blue. He wiggled the damp fabric, giving Percy his best smile. "aw, are you done already~?"

"Love, please-"

Kink used his thumb on Percy's pubic symphysis, stroking over it sweetly. Percy's back arched, his focus tilting from the sight of Kink's face to the feel of his hands. Kink nuzzled his leg, the slit between his own legs trembling with building heat. Watching his precious husband fall to pieces at his touch was a rush that drove Kink wild. "please~? please what?"

"Fuck-!!" Percy swore, the rare and precious vulgarity going straight to Kink's metaphorical dick. Kink reached under Percy's hips to claw at his sacrum, to scratch and tease more insistently. "Kink-!!"

"darling~" Kink cooed, leaning closer. "you have something i want, don't you~?"

Percy's hips bucked. "Y-yes, love, I do. I have- Stars-!!" Percy's voice trailed off, distracted by Kink's hands. "Fuck, baby, please, I- The pillow-!!!"

Kink might have enjoyed teasing Percy a little longer, but he had an emptiness in himself that begged to be filled. He gripped the pillow, pulling it out a little bit at a time to avoid any uncomfortable friction burns. When the very damp lump of fabric was finally extricated, Kink watched in abject awe as Percy's magic rushed to take its place, filling his pelvis. Kink tossed the pillow out of the way, trembling with anticipation and primal want as that magic knitted together to form the most perfect dick to ever exist.

Percy's dick was big. Even standing at rapt, eager attention, it tried to fall under its own weight. Kink supported it with both hands, stroking the underside with one as he pawed at the middle with the other. It was warm, pulsing with Percy's essence, and so thick he couldn't touch his fingers and thumb around it with one hand. What made Kink's soul flutter, of course, was the length.

Anyone bound by the limits of the flesh would be physically incapable of actually fitting that whole dick into their body (or, at least, anyone Kink's size would); Kink stood up, putting his legs on either side of Percy's hips. Percy was still supine on the bed, limbs weak from the tranqs and panting heavily from the teasing. His dick, with Kink standing upright, reached up high enough for Kink to grind his clit into. Kink held it in place with both hands as he rocked himself back and forth over the head, letting out a long, low groan.

Percy trembled, his own hips bucking weakly. "Precious-"

"i'm going to take you," Kink swore, locking eyes with him. He wondered at how hungry, how covetous, he must have looked right then to inspire that inscrutable expression. "and you're gonna lay there and like it~" Percy's whimper turned into a moan as Kink began to sink down onto that unreasonably sized dick that he loved so much.

This was Percy's Dick. It was Kink's. He was the only one who bothered to appreciate it, to savor it, to put in the work to feel it how it was clearly, obviously designed to be felt. Kink sank down, inch by precious, delicious, fabulous inch, his soul fluttering and pulsing in his chest every step of the way. The stretch burned and ached, but Kink was too fucking wet to really give a damn. The bulge in his ecto stretched up, and up, and up, following along the length of his spine, and Kink had to use his hand to angle it so it curved up and under his ribs.

Kink took a little break when he was on his knees. He felt delightfully full, his magic straining to accommodate the dick that belonged in him at all times, always. He was trembling, panting, drenched in sweat from the acrobatics necessary to lower himself a little at a time, as well as the strain of the self control necessary not to come his soul dry every time he sank down another inch. More than anything else, Kink felt amazing. He'd let himself forget to even process his other senses, all so he could let himself feel Percy pierce deeper into him, grinding against his mana lines.

"F-fuck..!!" Percy swore again, the sound making Kink clench on reflex. He gasped, chuckling at the little micro-motions he could feel traveling through him, inside him, from his helpless love.

"nobody ever treats you right, baby~" Kink lamented. "no one takes care of you like i do~ but don't worry~" He kneaded at the head of Percy's dick through his ecto, dragging a moan from that handsome throat. "i'm here."

That was when Percy hit him with the unfair weaponry. "I love you," he groaned, "I love-"

Kink didn't hear the last of those sweet words, crying out in his own voice as the orgasm he'd held back for so long ripped through him. His legs gave out, as he knew they would, and he slid down the rest of the way. Percy's dick stretched well up into Kink's ribcage, the tip prodding hard into his newly summoned soul though the bulge in his ecto. Kink came again, in quick succession, his vision whiting out from the overstimulation.

When Kink could compose himself, he found he was still thoroughly impaled, and he could feel Percy's knot bulging under him. The purr in his own ribs built up, tingling against ecto that wasn't necessarily meant to feel it. He reached down between his legs, using his hands to help stretch himself a bit wider to take that knot too. He didn't think his legs would obey, but to his pleasant surprise, he managed to get a good, steady bounce going, shifting up and down the thick, throbbing pole that kept his back straighter than any brace. "gonna take all of you, baby, all of you~" he felt himself promise more than he consciously said. "you don't get to hold back from me today~"

"Y-yeah..!" Percy squirmed, impotent in only the metaphorical sense. Usually he set the pace, with a lot more friction, more powerful thrusts, nothing as shallow as Kink was managing. Kink brought a hand up to pet his dick through the bulge in Kink's torso, giggling like mad. Percy was so cute when he was desperate and anguished, too! The muted stimulation made the magic in his joints flair impressively, sexily, made his fingers grasping at the headboard dig in a little stronger.

Every little bounce Kink managed made it that much harder to make the next, made him that much more desperate to make the next. Even if the thrusts were shallow, the repeated strikes to his soul were taking their toll on his concentration, on his self control. Kink's toes curled, and slickness slid down from his soul, cascading over his ecto to mess his spine and everything else around him. His fingers worked desperately to stretch himself wider, the slow progress ripping an enraged whimper through his grit teeth.

The moment he got it, that he could shove himself down around that knot and squeeze it tight inside him, Kink came again. The act of taking that knot was bad enough for his poor, bullied soul, which was pinned tight somewhere between Percy's dick and Kink's clavicle, but that was also the moment Percy finally came, too. Kink could taste it in the back of his nonexistent throat, feel the gushing wet heat fill him, slicking down in a tingling rush only to pool when the knot left no room left for escape. His soul fluttered and convulsed, making even more of a mess of his outside, only to spasm again as another wave of Percy's magic filled him, again, and again, and again. Kink couldn't tell where Percy ended and he began anymore; they were so entangled, so melded, melted together in warmth and wet and love. He doubted they could feel more like one without sharing souls.

And it was glorious.

Kink slumped forward, nuzzling his head into Percy's chest to listen to him breathe. He would be stuck there on that marvelous dick for a good, long while, and Kink had every intention of basking in the glory of being so perfectly, incomparably filled by his darling darkbeast.

Chapter Text

Slinky is a snake of culture: he sees a tree, he climbs it. Big trees, small trees, all trees are climbing trees. And in Slinky's not-so-humble opinion, his tiny tree mate is prime climbing real estate. Slinky loves his tiny tree mate, who is the perfect shrubbery size for easy coiling. His tiny tree mate is wonderful and smells nice and is perfect for dry nibbles and snuggling.

A feature of Slinky's lovely little bush husband is that he is incredibly shy. Slinky considers it a feature, not a bug, because it means he can hunt him down like a proper courtship and ravage him on the high of the hunt. Such is the mood Slinky is now in, sniffing the air for the sweetness of his mate's distinctive scent. Slinky does have a bit of a handicap, since the whole of the very-big-cave-nest smells heavily of his mate, but it smells of his mate being sad, and his tree-mate is, more often than not, rather content. Slinky is a skilled enough hunter to sort through the difference, to wind, swift and quiet, through the dark and the chill until he finds his tree-mate's hiding place.

Nightmare is in a lonely little room on the third floor of the castle. When Slinky finds him, cracking the door open to spy, Nightmare is standing naked in front of a big slate of something reflective (Slinky thinks the word is 'mirror'). There is a tub nearby full of murky water, which Slinky can tell is cold, and the few towels scattered around the floor have varying degrees of slime caked on them. Nightmare himself is largely pristine for once, the slime usually covering his whole body washed away, leaving the view of his lovely pale bones unobstructed. Better yet, shimmering translucent ecto hangs off the cool white, small pillows of warm soft that Slinky immediately wants to sink his teeth into. Not only is the soft, inviting welcomeness set in Nightmare's pelvis, but there are also two soft mounds hanging off his ribs. Slinky doesn't know what those are, but he knows what they are made of, how they smell, and he thinks he wants them.

Quickly, because his tree-mate is sensitive and clever and fast, Slinky springs forward. He grasps at his tree-mate and sinks his fangs into his leg, letting free the venom that has built up in his overtaxed venom sacks. Nightmare lets out a startled yelp, a number of powerful tendrils springing out from under his ribs, a reflex to strike at and remove Slinky before Slinky thinks that Nightmare knows what hit him. The venom, however, is very potent, and Slinky doesn't feel a single strike land before the strength is drained from them. Nightmare's legs give out, and Slinky shifts to catch and cradle his wonderful, skittish, tiny tree-mate in his arms.

Nightmare is a lovely lush green, his tendrils and wings quivering as he tries to move them even through the paralysis. He smells of fear and anxiety and shame, which Slinky does not like. Looking around, Slinky decides that this room is not good enough to make his mate feel safe for mating, and carries him out to find one of the rooms with a big, soft nest.

Slinky loves Nightmare. Slinky never wants him to be upset. If only he weren't so easily startled, it wouldn't take so much work to calm him down... Fortunately for his very lucky tree-mate, Slinky is very clever, and learned the skill known as Smooching. He pressed many kisses all along Nightmare's skull and shoulders and neck, mimicking the purring noises he and their other mates made. Gradually, Nightmare's panic-breathing slows to normal, relaxed breathing, and his fear smells dwindle. He turns a pretty powder blue that Slinky also likes.

Most of the big-soft-nests are down on the lower floors of the castle ('castle' is the word for the cave nest, castle), but Slinky has been remedying that over time, going out of his way to build nests all over for his big, stupid harem of big-dumb-idiots-who-don't-know-how-to-nest. A bit of air-sniffing helps Slinky navigate to one such nest, big and full of good smelling things. There is a room full of baskets of soft-things, many of which smell of their other harem-mates: Slinky had taken those the other day and dumped them onto a big-soft-thing that he hunted in another room, piling and arranging them all together in a good nest up on the third floor for just such an occasion. Slinky is just that clever and resourceful. Preening at his forethought, he gently places the much-calmer Nightmare into the middle of the nest, nuzzling and purring and lavishing him with kisses.

Nightmare is so small and cute, Slinky's tiny tree-mate that he loves so much. Slinky lets his calming little kisses trail down to the flat space between the little mounds on Nightmare's chest. He feels Nightmare's soul flutter through the pulse of his magic, strong and light and excited. He likes feeling that flutter, that pulse, like the heartbeat of fleshy prey, but smelling of his mate. Wanting to feel more of it, Slinky grips at those little mounds, one in each hand. They fit snugly in his palms, the stiff apex of the tips sliding between his metacarpals. Gentle, inquisitive squeezing gets him a few more flutters and a pretty blue flush, but playing with those little nubs rewards Slinky with delicious singing. He shifts his grip to toy at the nubs with his thumbs, resuming his nuzzles and kisses to the soft sides and the valley between them.

Slinky's tree-mate is starting to turn pink, to smell of arousal and good things that Slinky's mates should definitely smell like. Pleased, Slinky shifts his body to let one of his dicks free, stroking it before letting it lay in that soft valley between the soft mounds of Nightmare's chest softness. Slinky has to cup them to get a little pressure, but feeling that softness on his dick, feeling that fluttering on his dick, the pulse of his mate's excitement pounding out the pattern of his pleasure, was great. Slinky rolled his hips, harder, faster, chasing his own high-

He came, splattering his mate in his scent.

Needing a small break, Slinky shifts off to one side, curling his tail around and between Nightmare's legs. He wraps his arms around Nightmare, nuzzling and purring and sniffing him. Nightmare is still flustered, but he has quieted down, his candy colors like the colors of the candy-clouds that his other mates shared with Slinky once, sugar as fine as spider's silk. Slinky's tree-mate also tastes of sugar. Wanting it, Slinky grips Nightmare's jaw and initiates a deep kiss, licking at his mouth, breathing in his sweetness. Nightmare's tongue is limp like the rest of him, prehensile like the tail of a very cute snake. It tastes like fruit. Slinky has grown to appreciate fruit far more since dating (a nice word, dating; Slinky likes it) a fruit tree.

Night smells of excitement and want. Slinky kisses him again, crooning and hissing softly when he finally breaks away to nibble at his shoulder. Slinky has to be gentle with his nibbles, because Nightmare's bones are slender as a bird's, and the last thing Slinky wants is to hurt his wonderful tree mate. True bites will have to be saved for his softness, although Slinky is reluctant to bite those soft mounds and risk roughing them up with scarring. They're so small and soft and nice. Slinky paws at one again as he gives Nightmare another kiss, shifting his tail higher to grind into the equally soft mound between Nightmare's legs.

That mound is very wet. Slinky knows what that means for Nightmare, and it makes his dick remember its purpose.

Slinky breaks from that very-nice kiss and trills a soft question that he already knows the answer to: Nightmare isn't ready yet, but Slinky can and will get him there with a little patience. He rolls Nightmare onto his side, pillowing his head with soft things so he is comfortable, and shimmies down to leisurely work Night open with his fingers. Nightmare's body is still limp and relaxed thanks to Slinky's venom, and it is easy to hold his legs open with a few coils of Slinky's tail. His first two fingers sink into Nightmare's welcoming softness with slick, easy friction, and the noise that is punched from his tree-mate makes Slinky love him all over again.

The way he is coiled, Slinky can rest his head on the softness of Nightmare's wings, nuzzling into the soft inside fluff. Those tiny wings are rarely open, usually tense and tight and tucked close to his back, so Slinky does not expect the thickness of their scent to be so much stronger on the inside than outside. He sniffs at them, his pronged tongue skimming the edges of soft downey petals, before Slinky shoves his whole face into the soft and breathes. He fingers Nightmare faster, faster, wishing he had an extra hand to stroke his own dick too, but his other arm is being used as a brace for his and Nightmare's balance. Instead, he starts to undulate his tail to get friction from the surface of Nightmare's tailbone, hissing and whining that it isn't fair to smell so good, so much.

That friction isn't enough, but Nightmare is quivering again, and the scent of his want is so much stronger.

Newly inspired, Slinky scoops Nightmare into his arms again. It is easy to coil up in their nest of good smells and settle Nightmare on top of Slinky's tail, legs spread over the sides, in perfect form for riding him. Nightmare quivers again, letting out a soft little prey noise that is part anxiety and part indignant frustration. His poor tree-mate. Slinky is happy to soothe the injustice with more kisses, with gentle pets just like Slinky enjoys getting. After kissies, Slinky rests his head on Nightmare's shoulder, flicking his tongue down between Nightmare's back and his wing to sniff at that heady sweetness and musk. Both hands now available, Slinky uses one to play with the nub between Night's legs, and the other to stroke himself. He gauges Nightmare by the flutters of his soul-pulse, by the quality of his smell, by the soft noises and quivers of his wings.

When he thinks Nightmare is ready, Slinky slides him down slowly, carefully, onto his dick, letting his mate welcome him with wet, warm, fluttering softness. Slinky's tree-mate is the softest, and Slinky comes before he is fully hilted. They sing that pleasurable note together, Slinky holding Nightmare's tiny form against his chest as they rock each other through a well-earned climax (if Slinky says so himself). Slinky hisses at the intensity of Nightmare's fluttering, how he clenches and holds Slinky as tightly as Slinky holds him, loving every bit of it.

It takes a few moments, but Slinky finally starts to undulate his tail, rocking his mate up and down in slow waves and giving himself the friction he so patiently waited for. Nightmare would be limp, pliant, and taking a long overdue rest in Slinky's arms as Slinky (as a very good mate should) fucks him, long and slow and sweet, just like he deserves.

Chapter Text

Lust lights the joint and breathes deep, letting the musk of familiar medicine hit him fast and hard with an ameliorating placebo. The actual relief will come in time, but Lust knows the immediate effect is all in his head. He doesn't care; relief is relief, and on days like this he'd take what he could get. When he passes the joint, Red takes it in delicate hand and takes a long, slow drag, not much different than Lust's own. He starts it as tense as an over-coiled spring, but by the time he pulls the joint away, he's as limp as wet paper. Lust smiles, something wide and heavy he can feel happen on his face, and leans in to kiss him. Red tastes of weed already, but it can't mask his sweetness, his chill and safety that make Lust feel like he belongs.

Red's arms open wide, and he uses his larger body to pull Lust into his lap. There is a gentleness to everything he does, the delicacy with which he uses his claws, the care and precision as he moves Lust's negligible weight. Lust ducks his head, leaning into Red's chest and breathing, the scent of him, the scent of the LV that is making him ache, the scent of his leather and sweat and the lingering haze of booze from last night's drinking binge. Red thinks that he is slick, but he isn't slick enough to wash away the scent of alcohol. Lust doesn't know why he hides it in the first place, not when he isn't staying out late and he isn't letting it affect his daily life. He supposes that he doesn't understand, not really, but he doesn't think he has to in order to hold Red close and make him feel like he's loved. Lust grips Red's collar for leverage and kisses him again, slow and easy, taking his time to savor the experience, to let Red savor being experienced.

When they part, Red takes another hit. The smoke refracts the light of his eyelight like a halo. "feelin' better?" he asks, voice low and gruff. He's trying to hide it, but Lust hears how tired he is, likely from lack of sleep.

"yeah," Lust breathes, the exhale releasing a pressure he doesn't know is there until it's gone. "you?"

"yeah." Red tucks his head down to hide in Lust's shoulder, holding him close with one arm while the other keeps the burning joint out of the way. "'s always bett'r wi' ya here, sweetheart..."

Lust purrs, reflexive, as he cradles Red's skull against him, stroking over both smooth planes and scratched, calloused surfaces where breaks had mended. Lust must have mapped out each and every fossilized memory a hundred times, but each new little reminder feels like the first, like his soul is going to burst from the joy of being trusted so close when Red has already been hurt so deeply. Lust kisses him, sweet and soft, over and over, adoring him and wanting him to feel it through every point of contact. He doesn't let himself stop the attention entirely, even as he reaches for the joint to take a drag for himself. He grabs Red's wrist, guiding it to his teeth so he can breathe in the weed and the scent of Red's fingers in one go.

When Red starts purring, it's loud and rusty and stutters like an old motor. Lust loves the sound of it, of him and Red rumbling together, tangled in each other's arms. Lust loves Red, loves him so much he is drowning in it. Lust only feels more of that love when Red lets out a pained whine, clutching Lust tighter for support. Sometimes it is easy to forget that Red can feel what Lust feels, that Red knows how much Lust loves him by that alone, and that it gets him going like nothing else. Red's fetish being 'the act of being loved' is a turn on for Lust too, and Lust wants to love him so hard that he comes in his pants. Lust wants that so much it drives him crazy. He takes another drag, trying to keep the rocking of his needy hips to a minimum.

"i love you," Lust murmurs, words he once struggled so hard to even think to himself flowing freely, naturally, off his metaphorical tongue. The little noise Red makes is the summoning spell for Lust's dick, and he rocks his bulge into Red's without letting him go.

Lust hears the soft pad of approaching footsteps. He isn't surprised when a gentle hand rests on his shoulder, when a soft kiss clicks against the side of his skull. "getting frisky without me?" Dance asks, his smirk audible. "thought the couch was a lewd free zone?" He's teasing, Lust can tell, and the fact that Lust isn't shoved down a hole of anxiety by the joke speaks volumes about how far he's come getting comfortable with himself, with his relationships, with them. Lust takes another drag, but instead of breathing out the smoke immediately, he turns and kisses Dance, sharing the musk and medicine. Dance isn't a stoner like Lust and Red, but he doesn't seem to mind as long as one of them is the bong: he groans into that kiss, shifting closer. One of his hands joins Lust's on Red's skull, unwilling to leave their passive third out of the equation.

When Dance pulls away, he has a soft smile on his face that doesn't quite match the hunger in his eyelights. The weed hits him hard and fast, although part of that could be him feeding off the slow, seeping mellow that is starting to weigh Lust's limbs down. "come to bed," he orders. Lust nods without thinking about it, turning to kiss Red's skull one more time before moving to get up.

Red doesn't let go, so Lust stops trying to escape him. "bedroom, sweetheart," Lust coaxes, trying to keep his voice low and soft. Red grunts a subvocal acknowledgment, and the next thing he knows, Lust is being carried like a doll to their bedroom. Red climbs in bed, curling up with his back against the headboard and Lust once again in his lap. The bulge in his pants is warmer, harder, but Red seems more concerned with keeping his hands full. Red craves touch terribly when he is vulnerable, and Lust doesn't mind being a cuddle toy if it makes his love feel more at ease.

"another hit, sweetheart?" Lust asks, already taking in the next bit of smoke. When Red lifts his head up enough, Lust kisses him too, moaning low and tremulous as he offers Red more relief. Red groans in harmony, purring louder as he takes that smoke in to let it linger in his system. Lust tastes Red's magic on his tongue even under all the weed, and his hips move without thinking about it. The friction is teasing, muted through his lazy-day pants, but Lust doesn't care; it feels wonderful, working himself up steadily on Red as Red rocks them both back and forth, holding him safe and comfortable and loved.

Lust feels loved and it makes him feel damned good. His hips move a little faster, chasing a languid high he might actually reach if-

"turn him around, kitten," Dance orders, the mattress shifting as he climbs into bed too.

Red takes a little longer to comply, but Lust is lifted up and repositioned with his back to Red's chest, still cuddled and clung to like something precious. One of Red's arms is curled over his chest like a seatbelt, while the other rubs at his exposed lumbar. At Dance's next order, Red takes the joint from Lust's hand, tucking it between his teeth. Lust can smell the smoke behind him, wafting perfectly for him to get a contact high as if he isn't already stoned.

"color?" Dance checks, being the most sober of them.

"orange," Lust assures. Red whines, no doubt not feeling up to verbal communication. He taps out a three-pattern on Lust's shoulder, holding up 3 fingers for Dance to see before he resumes clinging to Lust like a fidget toy. Lust brings a hand up to stroke at Red's jaw behind him, stealing the joint back to take another drag and sighing happily.

Dance's expression is appreciative, both gentle and hungry all at once; it's the look he gets right before he says something that means 'i love you'. He doesn't say it this time, just leans in and kisses Lust, then Red, distracting them so he can steal the pot. "i wanna see you touch yourself," he says, wiggling the joint as if to say he wouldn't give it back otherwise.

Lust snickers. "just touch?" He slides a hand down into his pants, taking hold of his dick and lazily stroking.

"uhuh," Dance replies, more breath than word. He shifts closer, keeping his eyelights fixed on Lust's face and Red's behind him.

Lust knows what Dance wants out of this by now, and leans back to bask in Red's arms as he gives Dance a little show. He keeps a steady pace, three or four pumps before pausing to thumb at the tip. At first, all this does is keep Lust's attention from diverting from his own pleasure, but after a few minutes it starts to make a dent in his patience, in his self-control. Lust's hips buck, and he swears as a particularly strong jolt of pleasure hits him. Dance puts a steadying hand on his hip, forcing him back down, back into Red's lap.

"keep it slow," Dance orders.

Lust whimpers, but he does as he's told. His dick is starting to tingle and ache for more, but what makes his soul flutter is Dance's attention, and how Red's claws graze over his shoulder and along his spine. Another sudden jolt hits Lust, and he hears Red's breath catch in his ribs, a hiccup in his purring.

Dance has his hands down his own pants, but his hand is working far more aggressively than Lust is himself allowed. "squeeze, just a little," he demands. Lust does, gasping at that little bit of extra stimulation. Dance and Red gasp out with him, and Lust trembles as he realizes that it isn't just a show for them; it's an experience. "n-now use both hands, one for the shaft and one to rub the head. use little circles," Dance demands again. Lust obeys, stroking slowly, with just a little more pressure. He works his hand like he is trying to milk himself as gently as possible, and he grinds his palm into his tip, smearing his arousal over the sides in sticky rivulets.

Lust's toes curl in his socks, and he throws his head back. This shouldn't be enough to come by a wide margin, and yet he feels close. Being held, being watched, knowing they're getting off to how he feels; Lust feels dizzy. The chill of Red's claws is a delicious foil to the heat from Dance's hand, and he feels like he'll shatter from the contrast. "please-" Lust begs, unashamed. He has nothing to be ashamed of: he's loved, they love him, and they like it when he likes what they do to him.

"gonna come already?" Dance says it like it is a treat just for him. "go ahead, babe. go ahead, come just like th-"

Lust does, easy and soft like a kiss. He hears Dance cut off with a grunt, and feels Red's purring stutter. Lust finds himself sitting in a wet spot in Red's lap, those claws stiff and trembling against him until they go lax again. Lust's own release splatters in his pants, making a mess that will definitely require a shower. When he looks, his vision still fuzzy and hazed at the edges, he sees Dance is in no better condition, sweaty and panting where he looms over the two of them.

Lust is promptly kissed by Dance and bitten tenderly by Red, pinned in place exactly where he wants to be. He kisses Dance back, letting his own hunger color his reciprocation. When they break apart, Lust sags into Red and whines until Red kisses him too, soothing and sweet.

Dance lets Lust have the joint back, which he uses before passing it to Red. Red takes one more hit before putting it safely in the bedside ashtray. He shimmies down to lay comfortably flat, dragging Lust and Dance with him to cuddle in a sweaty, tangled mess. That shower would have to wait until they were all ready to let go.

Chapter Text

Red claws at the arms of the chair he's tied to by the wrists and ankles, trying not to tremble. He doesn't like how the chair is tilted back so he's functionally supine, nor does he like how the cloth over his face makes him feel suffocated. He knows that that is the fucking point, being waterboarded and all, but damn. If he were human, and needed to breathe to live, he would probably have cracked by now. He's glad he is just intensely uncomfortable; he can use spite to overcome discomfort, at least, as long as he knows in his head that it can't hurt him for real.

Red thinks he's swallowed some of the water. His ecto is cold under his damp sweater, where the heavy non-magical drink has pooled so his starved soul can try to convert it to something useful.

"Ready to talk yet?" One of the humans asks, like he hasn't asked Red a hundred times before. Red can hear it in his voice that he's starting to get impatient; torture sure stops being fun when the victim stops participating. Red doesn't move, doesn't shake his head, doesn't acknowledge that he's heard the prick at all. He might have tried to give some shit talk, but talking would mean risking swallowing more of that water filtered through the gross material, and Red doesn't think it's worth it. Instead, he twists one of his wrists as far as it will go, scratching the tip of the claw on his thumb with the claw-tip of his index, then flexing it as if he could examine the sharpness with his eyelights. Red doesn't know if they even notice the performative gesture or not (since he can't see them through the face cloth), but he hears a slam next to his head like wood striking concrete, and feels a sense of validation.

"Plan B," the head-human snarls. "Get that fucking Halloween decoration on the phone. He'll pay-" Red doesn't get to know what the fucker thinks his brother will pay for him, because screaming from an adjacent room makes him pause. "What-"

There is a boom, the hiss of energy, and the faint scent of o-zone. Red would recognize a Gaster Blaster's handiwork anywhere. It sounds like the door is blown off its hinges, and it smells like someone pisses their pants in fear. Soft footfalls that sound nothing like the click of Edge's boots echo off the walls, but they stop around the time Red feels something sharp against his neck.

"Get back, or I'll kill him." The human sounds like he is trying and failing to hide how scared he is.

"...then what?" Asks a voice that has Red's soul stuttering. He knows that voice too well to mistake it. He knows it too well to not hear that something has changed.

"What the fuck do you mean?! I- I'll really kill him!"

The laugh in Sans' voice doesn't sound like Sans at all, not the Sans that Red knows. His Sans doesn't laugh like that, like there is something so funny it makes him sick. "go ahead, then. do it. kill him." There is another footstep, then another. "it won't save you. will it, papyrus? ...see? you're so smart, bro." Another step, and another. Red can feel the knife trembling against his neck. "if it has love, it'll just hurt more when we kill it later, right? yeah. yeah..."

"Stay-" The knife moves away from Red. "Stay back! I'm warning you-!! Don't fuck-" There is a wet sound, a hiss, a gurgling. Red is splattered in something hot that smells like iron. It gets on his hands, on his neck, and probably would have gotten on his face too, if not for the cloth still there. A metal clattering noise heralds an eerie silence. It takes a few moments before Red hears the sound of magic constructs dissipating, of a body hitting the floor with a wet, gross thump that only human corpses seem to make.

Soft shuffling footsteps are the only warning before the chair that Red is strapped to is suddenly yanked back upright, flinging the wet cloth away and exposing Red to the world around him. He cringes at the sudden light, coughing and sputtering as he is finally allowed fresh air. When he can look around, he finds that Sans is looming over him.

He finds that Sans isn't Sans anymore.

"what th' fuck-" Red can't help but ask. Sans has one foot on the chair between where Red's legs are tied open, leaning his full weight on it, resting his elbow on his knee there. His hoodie, which had always been a soft powdery blue, is not only splattered in flecks of rusty red, but stained so thick in ashy grey that the color has muted and darkened. His once pure-white eyelights are perpetually colored just like Red's, and although some of his old blues remain in one, it mixes and melds with the crimson to waft in the purple of karmic retribution, as if his own KR is trying to eat him from the inside. Although Red had heard him talk as if to Papyrus, he can see that they are alone, the two of them in a room with no other witnesses but the dead.

"found you," Sans says. "i found you."

Red is having a hard time sorting through his own feelings. He isn't good with feelings. He never had them before Sans, aside from his loyalty to Edge. "th' fuck ya mean ya found me?! yer th' one what was fuckin' mi-" Red tries to snarl, to hide behind a veneer of rage, but it's broken when Sans leans in to kiss him. Sans looks different, tastes different, smells different, but he doesn't kiss different. It still feels like his tongue invades Red's every sense, like he takes over Red's being and puppets him through his mouth, through how the spark between their teeth makes him feel.

Red hates how after days of literal torture, it's this that fucks him up. He feels one of Sans' hands slide under his sweater, groping no doubt for his spine, only to find ecto in the way. His hands linger there, petting and squishing at Red, the sparks of intent making Red's toes curl. Sans doesn't seem to know if he wants to make Red hurt or feel good, but Red likes a little of both, and feeling that mix lights him up without his say so. When Sans pulls away, all Red can think to ask is, "where were you?" Sans had been missing for... a long time. Red had tried to visit him repeatedly, but it was like his whole universe up and moved. Not that Red cared; if Sans wanted to up and vanish that was his god damn business, but he could have left a fucking note!

Sans looks at him like he doesn't hear a word Red says, like he's too busy listening to something else.

"sans?" Red tries again. "what th' fuck happened t'-"

"shut up, papyrus," Sans says, voice low.

"where is papyrus?!"

Sans doesn't answer Red, he just grabs Red by the shoulder and pulls, yanking him, chair and all, through a shortcut that lands them in what looks like a bar. Red can see rusty wet stains on one of the tables in front of him, but the one that Sans pushes him to is relatively clean. What little mess there is left, Sans starts to clean up using the wet cloth that had been in Red's lap.

Red struggles against the ropes that have kept him bound so far. "ain't ya gonna lemme go?" He asks, although he doubts it. His suspicions are confirmed when Sans doesn't answer him, or even look at him. Red doesn't know what has happened to Sans, only that something has changed him, and Red doesn't have a mind to CHECK him for answers. Red is not scared, he simply doesn't care to look. Red isn't afraid of anything.

He isn't afraid to know what made the witty, talkative Sans suddenly so stoic. He isn't afraid to know if his flavor text still has that four letter word in lower case.

Sans finishes cleaning the table, then walks out of Red's line of sight. He makes several trips, until the table in front of Red is laden with bottles of booze and gallons of water. Red's chair is spun a half-turn to face the wall, away from the rest of the room, and Sans pulls a chair up for himself in front of Red. When he sits down, Sans has a tall empty glass with a long straw, which he fills with water and holds out for Red. "drink." He says it like an order he expects to be obeyed.

Red has no idea what the fuck Sans is thinking. The man had a poker face to make any gambler swoon before this, and it has only become more inscrutable. Still, a part of Red is weak, and trusts Sans even now with his life. Red doesn't think about the callousness of Sans' words only a moment ago, knowing from personal experience the kinds of shit someone is willing to say or do if it means keeping one's things safe. He thinks about the kiss that came after, and how that at least hasn't changed. He leans forward and drinks from the straw. Red tries to keep looking at Sans, to read him, to get any tells, but the intensity that Sans watches him with is too much for Red to handle, and he has to look away.

Red finishes the cup, and thinks that is the end of it. Sans, however, immediately refills it, demanding that Red, "drink."

"kinda full by now," Red grumbles. "no thanks."

Sans stares at Red as if he isn't sure he heard him. Red watches to see what he'll do. Sans drinks the water himself, although Red sees that he doesn't swallow, and then grips Red's face to hold him still. This time the kiss is rougher, keeping Red pried open as Sans feeds him the water up close and personal. Red feels Sans' fingers stroke the side of his cervical, as if to coax him to swallow. It is only after he does so that Sans pulls away, takes another swig, and does it again before Red can articulate a protest. Red thrashes in his seat, in his bindings, but his toes curl every time and he feels heat build up at the crux of his pelvis, until his pants start to feel tight. Red trembles, the pressure from all that material drink starting to affect him.

It is a while before there is enough of a pause between kisses that lets Red talk. "i'm seriously gonna fuckin' leak if ya keep this up. untie me, i need t' find a piss bowl." Whatever those things in human bathrooms are called. Toilets? Red never paid them much attention but he knows that they are for moments like now, when he can't sit still and needs to empty the tank.

Sans freezes, setting the glass and water jug he had been getting for yet another refill down on the table. He looms over Red, expression as unreadable as ever. After a few moments, he leaves, not even pausing when Red yells an indignant, "hey!" after him.

"asshole..!" Red thinks aloud, looking down at himself. He is still a little damp, tied up, and rumpled. He also feels warm, and bloated, and frustrated. Sans was always a fucking tease, but he at least gave Red witty banter to make it palatable. Red doesn't know what to do with himself when he has nothing but the way Sans makes him feel to occupy his mind. His soul and his dick seem to like it, but Red is also somewhat embarrassed.

He doesn't feel vulnerable, of course not; he doesn't need mushy shit like reassurance. He doesn't care that much. It's just annoying to be so turned on by someone who doesn't seem all that affected.

When Sans comes back, he has a knife. It looks like it might be the same knife that the human had used to threaten him, but it shines more than Red would expect and smells of alcohol. Sans shows it to Red as if to let him inspect it, turning it in the light so Red can see the sharpness, how it glints. Then he kneels between Red's legs and brings the blade-

"th' fuck 'r ya-" Red's soul doesn't know if he is supposed to be anxious or aroused. Maybe both. Red hears the blade slice through the fabric of his shorts, feels as the seams are slit open and the shredded fabric is ripped away. Red's dick bobs, and he shivers as it is exposed to the cold air. He shivers more as the even colder metal of the knife brushes against it, the harmless planes of the blade's flat side sliding along his shaft. "d- don't-"

'Don't tease,' Red wants to beg. He feels teased enough. He feels like Sans can see through him. That feeling only increases when Red sees what he thinks is the shade of a smirk on the man's face. Eyelights aside, Red can almost see Sans' old self in that expression, playful, knowing, playing 3 steps ahead of the 3 steps that Red always plays, with 3 more for good measure. He feels the knife tap against his dick twice, then feels it pull back when Sans sets it on the table. Sans then makes a long, small bone construct. The shape is familiar, since Red and Sans have played with it many times in the past. Red grits his teeth to keep quiet as Sans inserts the sounding rod, solving the problem of him leaking.

"fuck..!" Red swears, panting, He feels sweat slick down his spine. He braces for Sans to go back to stuffing him, one kiss at a time, but Sans leaves him again. Red squirms, clawing at the arms of the chair again. It isn't like he's said a safeword or anything, but- but...

Red doesn't wanna admit he wants support right now. He isn't used to having to, Sans has always just- just known.

When Sans comes back with what looks like a drinking funnel with a pump attachment, Red grits out, "safeword two." It's the one that's supposed to mean break for... stuff... Mushy stuff. It isn't a stop. Just- just a break. Red's never needed it before, but Sans has used it himself, a time or two when Red missed something hidden under that poker face.

Sans stares at Red, almost uncomprehending. He sets the tube on the table with everything else and stands over Red, his heterochromatic eyelights piercing through him. It isn't the immediate shift in behavior that Red expects. There is no soft dopey grin or light dismissal, no snuggling into his lap like a cat stealing affection. Sans stands there with his arms at his sides like he doesn't know what to do, except that he has to do something.

Red finally bites the bullet and CHECKs him:

Sans Dust
LV 20
HP 1
ATK 99
DEF 99
* Yours.
* Finally found you.

Red feels the rug come out from under him at the sight of those numbers.

Red is angry. He's angry at the whole fucking multiverse for what has happened to what is his. He knows His Sans- His Sans wouldn't have done this without a good reason, without being pushed, without being forced into a corner. He knows His Sans- and if he ever gets the chance to meet the son of a bitch that gave him LOVE then Red will kill them himself. His soul aches with how angry he is-

Sans'- no, Dust's hand settles on Red's shoulder. When Red blinks the furious haze from his vision, Sans- Dust is looming ever closer. The way he holds Red is different, rougher, but now Red knows why. Red knows why he smells wrong, why he moves wrong, why he handles Red so much more roughly: He's fighting against himself with every move he makes, with too much of him at once. Red wonders at how he hasn't hurt him yet, how Sans- how Dust has managed to have enough control to do everything he's done with Red and not kill him in the process.

Dust leans closer, pressing his frontal bone against Red's and breathing slow, staring into his eyelights as if they hold answers.

Red doesn't have answers, only outrage, and frustration, and something else that makes him want to drink himself under the table. Red also has poorly placed trust: If Dust hasn't killed him yet, then he probably isn't going to. "sans-"

Dust growls at Red, fucking growls at him, and it startles a laugh from him. "fine, fine, 'dust,' happy?" Dust's answer is silence, which Red is starting to think is both default and noncommittal. "ya still suck at names," he grumbles, but the extra pressure against his frontal bone where Dust leans closer is soothing. He thinks of those days when his own LV needles at him, of how Sans' games would make it hurt less and less until he could ignore it entirely. He thinks of how much more Sans- Dust- must need that now, when his numbers make Red's look like chump change. "keep it gentle, asshole," he grumbles, giving Dust a bit of pressure of his own.

Dust is still his, and Red has always had a weakness for his things, despite himself.

Without a sound, Dust pulls back, grabbing the tube. He brings the end to Red's teeth, and Red gets the idea. He opens for it, closing his sockets and relaxing his jaw to let Dust ease it down. When it goes down his 'throat', Red's sockets water, some sort of vestigial response he has always found annoying (especially when it crops up mid-fellatio). Dust is clinical with the insertion, hands steady and precise. Red knows what to expect, so he isn't sure why it surprises him when Dust starts to pour gallon after gallon, bottle after bottle, of drink down the funnel, feeding it straight into Red's ecto-body.

Red claws at the chair arms hard enough to leave marks this time. He squirms, swallowing around the piping like he has any chance of stopping the flow. At one point, the pressure in his middle seems to be enough, the liquid no longer flowing down and into him. Red feels so full he thinks he will pop if even one more ounce is added. Red is proven terribly wrong when Dust starts to use the pump function, forcing the liquid into him in bursts.

As more is shoved into Red, he can see and feel his sweater start to ride up. His stomach is swelling like a water balloon. It's almost comical, really; Red can't believe it's really his magic that just keeps growing, and growing, and growing. He feels stupidly full. His pelvis tingles, some other vestigial response he doesn't need to remind him how he's hardwired to actually pass all that material. His stomach grows large enough that it starts to put pressure on his dick from without as well as within. If not for the sounding rod, Red would have pissed himself whether he liked it or not many times over.

When Dust is finally satisfied, forget a balloon; Red feels like a whole ass water bed. His sweater is hiked up all the way off his middle, leaving a substantial, unnatural swell exposed to open air. There is a primitive kind of relief that comes when Dust starts to pull the tube out of Red, a little bit at a time. Red coughs as he readjusts to a clear metaphorical airway, but the deed is done; the water is in him and he won't be expelling it out his fucking mouth. "sans-!!"

Dust growls again.

"oh, fuck you! dust! whatev'r! th' hell kind o' kinky shit is thi-" Red is too frustrated to give a shit about kinkshaming. He's also too frustrated to keep his fucking voice down when Dust grabs his dick and rubs it like it'll grant him wishes. Dust's other hand strokes and kneads at Red's bloated, swollen middle, exacerbating the feeling of internal pressure. Red tenses, arching his back as much as his engorged stomach will allow (which isn't much) as he's dragged through a hard, dry orgasm kicking and screaming. He sees stars.

When Red blinks his vision clear, he sees Dust has the knife. Dust checks the sharpness against his thumb, mumbling, "i said shut up. i found him. i found him," to himself before turning and bringing the blade to Red's throat. "thrust," he orders.

Red glares at him as best he can, but gives his hips a tentative little gyration. Red doesn't expect anything of it except sore hips from moving all that mass, but the motion rocks all the liquid in him back and forth just enough that it rubs against his dick deliciously. He gasps, pressing back against the chair as if it will offer some escape. "th-there."

Dust circles around to stand behind Red, that knife sliding under his sweater to graze his sternum. "thrust," he orders, more insistent. What has Red flushing hard enough to feel the heat in his face is the tone, the shade of his Sans' salaciousness coloring the syllables. Red starts a steady rhythm which he knows is just going to tease him cruelly.

He likes it, likes how Dust's hot breath scents the air, how the cold of the blade keeps him alert, how the pressure makes him feel like he'll bust a nut at any second and the teasing friction reminds him that he can't.

Dust hides his face in Red's shoulder, breathing in deep, smelling him. Red gets the feeling that some of his stress is starting to bleed out, bit by bit. The tremors in his knife hand slowly turn to steady, fluid gestures, tracing patterns in his sternum. "faster." He's bossy. Red kinda hates how that turns him on, makes his hips move faster all by themselves. Red kinda likes it, too, but at the moment he's overwhelmed to the point of tears and doesn't need anything else driving him crazy. It is hard enough not to beg, something his pride refuses to allow.

"d-don't just fuck'n stand there..!" Red snarls, sounding breathy and vulnerable and weak to his own metaphorical ears. "f-fuck me already..!"

Dust doesn't move, just makes a gesture with his empty wrist where it rests on Red's other shoulder. Red feels what he's done- the sounding rod vanishes, dispelled in an instant.

Red freezes, trying to clench down on himself, to keep from bursting. That insistent tingling amplifies tenfold, and Red can't tell if the warm dribbling that cascades down his dick is piss or pre. "untie me- i gotta-"

Dust digs the knife in a little. "thrust." He says it like it's a vulgarity. In this context, it is. Red gives his hips a stiff jerk, still trying to hold on. Dust growls, dragging a slow, low, threatening little slice down Red's sternum. The cut stings with how much bloodlust Dust is holding back, but it doesn't touch Red's HP. It feels good, sting and all, and the only way that would be possible would be if-

Red sobs, the realization breaking him. He sags as the dam breaks, as he starts coming all over himself and the floor. His vision blacks out, the last thing he knows being the relief of release and the scent of Dust as he holds him tight through it.

Chapter Text

"Do I have to?" BP asked, even as he held perfectly still for his girlfriend to tie his bowtie. He was already too hot and too itchy, the formal suit feeling like too much on top of all the fur on his arms. The LT in his system made heat regulation a bitch to begin with, so such stuffy clothes were kind of awful.

"I'm sorry, but yes," the human woman replied, her lovely dark eyes fixed on the work. "You know how my mom is; she'll just chew us both out if you don't." She smoothed out the stiff fabric, then reached for his arms. "Ready to pull out the fur sleeves?"

BP nodded, bracing for the weird feeling. By putting a light cloth sleeve on first, he could pull on a long sleeved coat, and then yank the under-sleeve out to smooth his fur back into place. It was hard to do by himself, but with Evie's help, it went rather well. Then again, Evie had a way of making a lot of surface life easier.

Like her idea of using a bullet vibrator to distract him from the heat: as uncomfortable as he was in a suit, BP wasn't afraid to admit how excited he was to play a new game with his girlfriend. His very hot girlfriend; His hot girlfriend with dark hair and dark eyes and a wide knowing smile, who knew the Dewey Decimal System as well as he did; His hot girlfriend who helped him manage his PornHub account, and didn't mind how much sushi he ate, and scritched his ears real nice even outside of the bedroom. BP's hot girlfriend who liked his dick and his paws and didn't mind when he rubbed his face against her neck.

BP's hot librarian girlfriend. His. His, his, his, his, his, his, his-

"Earth to Nimrod," Evie said, soft and fond and teasing as she snapped her fingers. "Ready to go?"

BP shook his head to clear it. He had been- he'd been somewhat 'possessive' lately. He was trying really, really hard not to let it ruin the good thing he had going. He wasn't gonna follow his Evie around like some creepy stalker, or hover and weave around her at all times of the day, or try to chase off her friends with his claws out just because he didn't like their smell on her. That would be weird. He'd just stand there spacing out and fantasizing about it, about curling up in her lap in bed with some prime sushi and her favorite chisps, and never ever leaving.

But today was a day they were totally leaving. "Y-yeah..." Why did Evie's family have so many fucking holidays? He wasn't even sure what the fuck they were celebrating half the time. Not that he minded Evie having so many holidays, exactly, just that so many of them seemed to be Family Reunion type holidays, and while it made his soul flutter that he was invited to them and he would absolutely never turn it down, he didn't like everyone in Evie's family as much as he liked Evie.

Well, he didn't like Evie's mom as much as he liked Evie. The rest of them were pretty cool, and they didn't mind how much fish he ate as long as it was... something. BP forgot the word they used, since he didn't know what it meant other than that he should ask Evie if the groceries were 'it' before he bought them. It was honestly easier to remember brands and food names that were okay.

Evie lingered a few more moments, hands sliding over the smooth fabric of BP's suit, intent burning with admiration that made BP wish she would rip it off and take him against the door. Instead, she took BP's hand and led him out to the car. It at least gave him plenty of time to appreciate how... nice (yeah, nice was the word) she looked. She wasn't particularly dressed up, not like he was (how he had to be just to dodge her mother's nonsense), but she still looked wonderful, her modest skirt fluttering around her long, powerful legs, the slight looseness of her top a little less loose across her shoulders and chest. Then again, BP thought Evie looked sexy in anything, even her old fast food worker uniform.

The drive was quiet, just the loudness of traffic and the engine and the music Evie played to drown it out. BP still didn't like car rides, but she made them bearable. Her car smelled like her, and she'd hold his hand at every stoplight. His girlfriend was the best. So much so, that before he knew it, they were pulling up to parallel park in the last empty space in front of Evie's grandmother's house, just outside of the city limits.

BP made to reach into the back seat and pick up the little package he had prepared in advance, smoothing out the gift wrapping. Birthdays were like giftmas, right? They were for monsters, anyway... Evie looked at the package the same way she had when he had gotten it, with this sort of endearment that made him feel a little silly. She smoothed back his whiskers, laying them flat against his cheek so her kiss wouldn't feel overwhelming. "come on, kitten-face, let's do our best."

"Yeah..!" BP wasn't even done with the syllable when the dildo in his ass flipped on. He went through a full body shiver, the purr in his ribs starting low and soft to match the toy. Some of the heat immediately fell away, sated by the intent of his wonderful, amazing, sexy, kinky girlfriend whom he was absolutely smitten with and loved so fucking much and kinda wanted to fuck a little in the back of the car. Her sly, knowing smile as she wiggled her hand in the pocket of her jacket was enough to make his pants feel tight. Still, this was amazing. Wonderful. He'd make it through the party and then they could go home and he would have her to cuddle and maybe do stuff to him.

They got out of the car, and BP managed to slink his way across the perfectly manicured lawn and stand by Evie's side when she knocked on the door.

When Evie's dad opened the door, BP's soul fluttered at how affectionate they were with each other. Her father was wearing the little round hat he wore a lot, and BP marveled at how it didn't jiggle around as the man animatedly hugged and kissed his daughter. The sheer intensity of his delight at her arrival made BP feel a different, platonic kind of warm. He used words that BP didn't understand, but BP knew by now that they meant that it was his turn to be hugged.

"It's so good to see you," Evie's dad said, and BP thought he really meant it. "Come, I made some of that cod you like!" Evie's dad made a mean cod (a type of soft, tasty fish on the surface). BP had a weakness for it, a craving. It was amazing, delicious, and BP didn't give a damn that he had to suffer a visit to the bathroom a few hours later. It was worth it.

"G-great..!" BP stammered, wishing he was better at talking to people. Evie took hold of his hand again, squeezing gently, and led him after her dad into the rather noisy house. Several voices from all directions called out greetings, some even to BP personally. He offered them a little wave, feeling a tad overwhelmed by the crowd, the heat, the noise, the sense of claustrophobia. He was incredibly grateful when Evie got him through the crowd to the sitting room where her Grandmother was receiving guests.

"There's my grandson!" Evie's Grandmother all but cried, her smile wide and joyous. Evie had her Grandma's smile, no doubt about it. "And my granddaughter too! Aren't you two precious!"

The phrase Evie greeted her Grandma with probably meant 'Happy Birthday,' but BP had to admit it just sounded like 'yum hurrah sandwich.' He still wasn't very good at the language, although he liked hearing her speak it for multiple reasons (and not all of them were kinky, just... some of them; his girlfriend had a sexy voice, shut up). She let go of BP's hand to give the old woman a hug. "How has your day been??"

"A blessing, as always," Grandma assured. "How can it not be with such wonderful family?" She gestured at the house. "And such a handsome future grandson-in-law! Come here, let Grandma see that fluffy little face of yours!"

BP smiled, despite himself. Grandma was the touchy kind, but her intent was soft and gentle, like a hug. He didn't mind kneeling down a little for her to admire him. It also gave him a chance to offer his gift. "Uh... It's your birthday right? Um... Here..?" As the old woman took the package, BP mumbled, "Happy Birthday," very quietly under his breath.

"What a generous young man you are," the old woman practically preened, taking a moment to pat his head, right between the ears. She almost made to try and tear the paper, but found the little string that BP had tucked inside the wrapping for easier unwrapping, and with a delighted little noise, pulled. The wrapping paper ripped almost like it was cut from the inside, letting her pull the top and bottom segments off the book tucked inside. "And what is this??"

"It's a book. Uh. Well, it's a reprinting of a book. I had them print it with bigger letters so, like..." He gestured. "Humans have trouble reading small print, right..?" He looked at his feet, wiggling his toes and absently flexing the claws. They almost caught on the plush carpet, so he couldn't move them as much as his anxiety might prefer. "It's about a romance, because, uh- those are really popular where I'm from, and-"

He's cut off when Grandma, setting the book in her lap, grips his face with both hands and nuzzles his head. "Thank you so much, precious! I'll get to read something nice at bedtime!" She said more words BP didn't understand, but the intent in her hands was enough; he felt like he did something right.

As nice as the dildo was, he didn't need it so much around Grandma. Sweet lady like her made him wanna be a gentleman.

BP stood up after the older woman was done being sweet, so Evie could spend some more time with her. He stepped back, going to sit on a couch across the room and wait patiently for his very amazing girlfriend to be done with family bonding. He didn't mind waiting so much, especially not when Evie occasionally fiddled with the controller for his dildo, making his soul flutter and his insides squirm. He couldn't have anxiety if his brain was too mushy.

Usually, parties ended up going like so: BP would greet the Grandma, eat some of the Dad's excellent fish, say hello to whoever else Evie wanted to hang out with, all while doing his damnedest to avoid the Mom. They'd make it through, like, 75% of the party, then BP would beg Evie quietly to dip out early and they'd go home for post-party sex. BP usually got pegged all nice, but he'd get the occasional treat of topping too. He had this down to an art, knew all the steps, knew all the motions. But today was different: he couldn't stand to leave Evie alone (read: without him), so he couldn't go get that fish. He'd have to wait longer, which probably meant staying in longer, which- well, whatever. BP just wanted to be with Evie. A lot. So much. Why wasn't she in his lap like right now?

Anxious and a little protective, BP got off the couch to wander back to Evie and her Grandma. He was halfway across the room when he heard the word that made him stiffen like a meerkat: "-baby-" Evie's voice was unmistakable. She said that word, and BP was at her side so fast he could have been Sans' prank.

"What?"

Those wide, shit-eating grins were directed at him in stereo. Evie's hand cradled her stomach, like she did when she was sick. "As you children say, Best Birthday Ever. Did I say that right?"

"Yeah," Evie assured, giggling. "Beeps, uh-"

"What???" BP had to have heard them wrong. Or was imagining things. Or maybe he was dreaming.

"I'm pregnant, beeps."

BP thinks he is going to die. His soul is trembling so violently it is borderline painful. His underpants are kinda sticky. He feels faint.

"Beeps?" Evie reaches out for his hand. BP bypasses the handholding to kneel on the floor, his head in Evie's lap as he hugs her around the middle. He's purring so hard it shakes his bow askew. He thinks he might throw up. He thinks he might faint. He thinks he might just pick up his amazing perfect girlfriend and run them both home and tuck her in a drawer next to the extra soft socks and never let her out. When she laughs, Evie sounds almost as happy as he feels, although BP doesn't know how that could be possible. "Are you crying?"

"No." It's probably a lie but he honestly doesn't give any fucks. He's going to have to quit smoking. He's going to have to find a good doctor. And more books. Lots of books. All kinds of books.

"And your mother said you'd never give us grandkids," Grandma teases. "Look at you, what a good, handsome grandson, being a happy father!" Another word that BP doesn't know, but he isn't thinking about that. He's thinking about all the things he's going to do to Evie when they get home.

"Can we go home now?" He has to ask. Beg.

"But we just got here?" Evie is still giggling. How long had she been keeping this secret from him? Probably not long. His Evie was terrible at secrets. It was probably this morning. Or last night at the latest. BP makes the small noise that Evie thought was cute, shameless, uncaring of his pride. He wants to take his girlfriend home and love on her right now- "Okay, okay, let me just say goodbye to mom and dad. I'll grab that cod to go, okay?"

BP nods, although he has a hard time letting the woman go. He doesn't want to let go. He wants to dig his claws in and hold her close.

Evie manages to squirm free and disappear into the crowd, leaving BP alone with her Grandmother. The old woman looks especially pleased, and pats his head with enough fondness to restart BP's system. "You'll be fine. But you might want to think about maybe becoming my real grandson."

The idea of that, of marrying his amazing, wonderful, pregnant girlfriend, makes his sticky pants feel tight all over again. BP is suffering, and for once he isn't unhappy about it. When Evie calls for him, he runs, taking her arm and the tupperware and escorting her out. He can't get her in the car fast enough.

The drive back takes an eternity. BP can't stop purring no matter how hard he tries. He can barely restrain himself from asking her to pull over and roll up the windows. Once they get home, he only stops long enough to put his precious cod in the fridge before pinning Evie to the couch and biting her shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

Evie yelps, grasping at the back of his neck and pulling on the loose skin, wrenching a groan out of him. He lets go, panting to drown himself in the raw, unfiltered scent of her. His girlfriend, his wonderful, perfect, amazing girlfriend. "Marry me."

"Fuck me first, then propose, Nimrod."

That gets a laugh out of him. He kisses her again, fumbling with her clothes to get them out of the way. As gentle as he tries to be, Evie is not; she rips the bow off his neck and yeets it across the room, then grabs his pants and unzips them so hard and fast it breaks the flimsy zipper. The broken handle goes flying towards the kitchen doorway, skidding across tile at the same time she reaches in to pull his dick free. He's slick with his own arousal, a fact that Evie takes advantage of without hesitation. She strokes with the barbs, smoothing them down over and over, pulling on the tender skin in the process just how she knows he likes.

Evie's other hand reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out the remote for the dildo. She works with him to get it off afterwards, but only after turning up the frequency. BP hisses at her, a reflex, but one she seems to enjoy eliciting from time to time. BP might have tossed the jacket with less care than he should have, because it lands somewhere and immediately knocks over their novelty MTT lamp. BP couldn't care less, and given how Evie squeezes his dick, she's of the same mind.

He loves her so fucking much.

When she hikes up her skirt, BP slides her panties down a tad too fast: they rip in his paws. She laughs, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him closer. He tosses the torn fabric and braces against the arm of the couch, trying to keep his weight off her as he lines himself up. "Ready?" Please, please be ready, he's so fucking ready, please, fuck-

"Slow start," Evie says, bringing her hips up to meet his. She fits perfectly against him, like she was made for him, or him for her, or something stupid and sappy and romantic like in all those kinky hallmark movies. BP hides his face in the shoulder he bit, purring louder yet as he slides in smooth and easy. She's soaked, and it's only then that he has a brief panic about not taking the time to prep her like she deserves, but the way her legs tense around his hips makes him think she doesn't care tonight.

BP makes a mental note. He'll get her double next time.

They hilt, as close as physically possible, and BP feels the heat from his LT bleed out of him. Evie is freezing, compared to the burn, although she's warm and soft and smells like vanilla soap and those little green things that scare him. He lingers there, basking in the experience, feeling her weird, material body pulse and squirm under his like her skin has a soul of its own, like the magic that beats in her mana lines had a tangibility that he could feel in his hands like sunlight. She is alive, and heavy, and real and-

And she clenches like a damned vice. BP pulls out sharply, and the way she cries out with the shock of it makes his hips buck. She has his scruff in a fist and her other hand strokes up and down his chest, toying with the buttons until it's partially open from the top and she can reach in to stroke at his undercoat. He feels his tail bristle in excitement, and starts to thrust in earnest, wanting to make his wonderful, amazing girlfriend sing like in all the movies.

Evie is so beautiful like this, pulsing with her warmth, her scent, the darkness of her eyes glimmering with speckles the same hue as her soul. It doesn't take very long for BP to come to this, to her. He ends up a mess, trembling and purring and weak from how good he feels, how right he feels, curled up in her lap.

The apartment is quiet. Evie's hands are sticky, but BP doesn't care. She can pet and scritch him all she wants. He can wash later. He rubs his face against her wrist, panting to take in the scent of her, of him and her mingled together in that odd cocktail of material and magic and good.

"So," she rasps, voice raw from screaming for him so nicely, "didn't you wanna ask me something?"

BP's cumdrunk brain doesn't quite compute. He blinks owlishly at her, smiling so wide he can't fit his fangs behind his lips. He knows how wide his pupils have dilated, because he can see the faint glow her human body makes in the darkness.

Evie smiles wider. Her happiness is palpable. "Later, then," she murmurs, before kissing him one last time. She lays back, and he lays on her, keeping her safe and warm for the night.

Chapter Text

Icewolf sniffs the evening air, hefting the many grocery bags they carry on each arm. It is turning to autumn, the cool winds of slow-approaching winter creeping into the air of DogStreet. Icewolf likes living on DogStreet; the neighborhood has plenty of other dogs (most of whom have way, way less LV than them), and the non-dog neighbors are also agreeable. They especially like that Sans- or Red, he goes by Red now- lives nearby: Red is a reasonable sort, assuming you know how to keep on his good side, and with him here, Captain Papyrus- Edge- will be sure to keep the community as peaceful as possible. Icewolf would not mind living in a bad neighborhood if it was just them (they are strong from hard work throwing ice and fighting off rather aggressive political bears), but they have a family to worry about now. The collars around their neck and ring finger are a reminder of that, a cool buzzing reminder of their amazing keepers whom they are honored to be the pet of, and the clan they are raising together with the lower case kind of love.

The wind changes direction and speed, rustling the bags in Icewolf's arms. They pick up the pace, padding their way down the street until they arrive at the humble house they are paying off with their keepers. As they approach, they have a strange feeling like there is something wrong. It is too quiet. They move a bit faster to the door, unlocking it with their house key with shaking hands as they struggle not to break the door down.

Inside, they find two humans on the couch, waiting for them. Erica is on the left, wearing a pair of her favorite ripped jeans and a simple t-shirt with a skeleton on fire on it. She's got the look on her face that makes Icewolf think they have fallen for one of her traps. They usually like falling for Erica's traps. Mike is on the right, wearing just a long baggy nightgown with little five-pointed star patterns. She's rubbing at her breasts when they open the door, a sign that she is sore today. She stops when she looks up to see them, smiling with sly, possessive mischief.

"Where are the pups?" Icewolf asks as they head for the kitchen. They have to put the food away immediately, especially the delicate foods that need to go in the cold fridge. They need to buy a lot of human food for their human keepers, and they found out the hard way that human food 'spoils'.

"Took 'em to the babysitters," Erica says like it is an evil little treat. "That nice gay triple down the street took the second litter-"

"And the jogger's triple took the first!" Mike sounds just as gleeful. "We have all night, they aren't dropping them off again 'till tomorrow!"

Icewolf feels oddly reassured that Red is the one watching their youngest pups. They don't know the jogger and his pets that well, but he is fast and clever and knows Red somehow, so they don't have any anxieties about that choice either. Their humans are so clever, finding reliable babysitters. "That is good, then..."

"Better than good, bitch!" Erica sounds so happy, and that makes Icewolf happy too. Her happiness makes the background static of their bloodlust even easier to ignore. "It's been too long since we had sex!"

Sex is a word that makes Icewolf stiffen. The can of juice that they have in hand crumples like paper, spilling sticky sweet drink over their paw. Their hotpants feel tight. They cannot turn to look at their humans, because they cannot imagine that they will be able to keep the thoughts running through their head off their face. Their humans are very good at sex. They know how to make Icewolf feel like a Good Boi.

"Yeah, you like that idea, don'tcha?" Erica snarks.

"Finish putting the groceries away, and then come here." Mike speaks softly, but her words have command no lesser than Erica's. It makes Icewolf want to work faster. They toss the crushed juice aside and rinse their paw off, quickly (not fast enough but quickly-), so as not to spread the stickiness that will leave smells around the kitchen, then rush to finish putting away the food.

When Icewolf gets everything put in place and all the locks on the cabinets are secured, they bound back into the livingroom to kneel on the floor in front of Mike and Erica. Their tail is wagging so hard they are slapping their back and legs. Their humans look at them with that predatory hunger that made them fall in love (or maybe lust, hard to tell with them; they are very good at the sex). When Erica reaches out to dig her long, slender fingers into their fur, to scritch at their ears, Icewolf feels like they'll fall over from the joy of it.

Icewolf never would have thought in a million million years that they would get to be this happy.

"Yeah, you're a good boy, aren't you, you fluffy little asshole," Erica croons. "Bringing the food home, putting it away, sitting all polite. You set such a good fucking example for the kids, huh big guy?"

Icewolf nods because whatever their humans say must be true. They're so awesome and strong and can kick their ass and that is so, so attractive.

Mike squeezes at her chest again, massaging the sore places. The sweet scent of her milk flits through the air, and it is only because of Erica's scritches that Icewolf manages not to lunge. They watch as wet spots grow through the fabric. Mike smiles, knowing very well how attractive she looks to them. She is their human, one of the mothers of their pups, and so, so pretty with her wide frame and soft curves. She smells a lot like sweet sugars and a little like bread. "Do you wanna help me with these..?" When Icewolf nods, their tail only wagging harder, Mike smiles and begins to shimmy out of her nightgown.

She is naked underneath. Mike is soft and warm and relatively non-fluffy, with only a little fur in some places. Icewolf never thought they would be into that, into someone with so little fur. They are, though: they look at Mike and, as soon as Erica lets go of them, crawl close enough to press their muzzle between her soft squishy chest mounds. They nuzzle in, eyes closed as they bring their paws up to press and squeeze each one with as much gentleness as they can manage. Mike makes a soft groan of relief, more milk spilling from her a little at a time. She makes so much thanks to having so many pups, they supposed letting it build up had to be uncomfortable...

Not wanting any of that sweetness to go to waste, Icewolf tilts one so they can lav their tongue over the nipple, lapping up the milk as fast as it spills out from their squeezing. Icewolf will suffer for it later (human milk had a lot of magic in it, but a lot of material too), but they do not mind. They're especially happy that doing so makes Mike smell pleased, her musk flaring thicker as they work.

Erika gets up, moving to leave Icewolf alone to help Mike relieve the pressure. They growl on reflex, wanting both of their humans next to them.

"I'll be back, chill," Erica snaps, pinching Icewolf's ear at the tip, like a gentle bite. "Gonna get a few things. Stay."

Icewolf plans to stay. They have a human mate to groom and tend to. Icewolf wants to be dutiful in their attention, wants to make their bedmates feel as good as they make them feel. Gentle mouthing and liberal use of their tongue always seems to work, so that is what they keep doing. When Erica disappears into the bedroom, Icewolf quickens their pace on Mike, and is rewarded with a soft moan and the taste of milk. The magic tingles thick on their tongue, clinging to the back of their throat. Mike tastes of light blue patience, heady and intoxicating. They feel a bit sedated from the sheer concentration of it, and awed that it is only run-off from the incredible, powerful soul that beats so powerfully in her magnificent chest.

Hotpants sure feel tight this time of night, and Icewolf wonders if they might need to buy a larger size...

"G-good boy..!" Mike murmurs, soft. She's always soft for them. Her hands settle on the back of their head and make soothing little circles in their scruff. Icewolf's soul flutters, like they can feel the pulse of their own love, hope, and compassion throbbing between the crust of their LV. It beats in time with the beat of Mike's pulse, the rhythm of her blood and mana as it flows just under her skin. Drunk on this sense of intimacy, Icewolf switches to the other side, the second of the two nipples to drain it with a bit more force. Mike groans a little louder, throaty.

The smell of their human's arousal is intoxicating too.

Erica returns with a few things in hand. "You ready for this to get rough, slimjim?" She asks as if Icewolf would deny her anything. They look up from paying Mike attention, and see what Erica has in mind for the night.

Icewolf shivers: Their human has a strap-on, a leash, a lighter, and metal rod. They know what those are used for. They also know what those mean for the aftermath. They nod vigorously at Erica, their tail thumping on the floor.

"Good boy." Erica sets the leash aside, immediately flicking the lighter to light. She holds it against the metal rod, turning it slow to heat all the sides evenly.

While Erica preps the heat, Mike takes the leash in hand and wraps it around Icewolf's throat, just above their collar. She threads the end of the leash through the handle loop, and pulls it firmly through. "Deep breath," She whispers, all soft, the gentlest warning. Icewolf fills their chest, and their human pulls the end of the leash, slowly, slowly, until she can pull hard enough that it constricts against their throat. Icewolf waits for that key moment when his physicality realizes that there is no room left for breathing. They gasp, leaning their head back and grasping at Mike's soft, warm thighs for support.

Icewolf's head is spinning even more, and their limbs start to feel heavy. Their ears tingle with an odd numbness. Their hotpants feel tighter than ever, and they buck their hips in a quiet little plea for attention.

Erica giggles. It sounds musical. "You're gonna bust a seam at this rate, slimjim~" She shifts closer, and Icewolf hears the click of the lighter going out. They smell hot metal. They feel Erica's hand stroke over their inner thigh. "Gonna get ya here. On three: One~ Two~"

She never makes it to three. Instead, Icewolf feels the burning metal pressed into the fur of their inner thigh, where it is comparably thin. It seers the fur, crisping and shocking their system. It hurts, but Erica's intent is only on pleasure and entertainment, on enrichment and a little mischief. She barely nicks their HP.

The whole situation is hot, and not just from the branding. Icewolf's tail thumps harder still against the carpeting, and they would probably howl or growl or pant if they'd the breath for it. Their soul struggles inside them against the dichotomy between physical pain and pleasurable intent.

Mike knows them well: she knows the exact best moment to let go of the leash, to let Icewolf breathe. That first inhalation is like the fuel that sparks a fire in Icewolf, and they howl as their soul ignites. Their hotpants feel sticky, wet, and still overly tight as the dam bursts and they shoot their load. Their knot is tender in the way that makes them want to be touched, but they just lean forward to hide in Mike's chest and cling, soaking in the closeness.

Erica takes the hot metal away, one of her slender hands stroking over Icewolf's head and back. She digs her long painted nails in perfectly to get at itches that Icewolf had not realized that they had. "Were you pent up too, baby?" She asks, nuzzling her face into their fur. Icewolf loves it when she smells them back, something primitive making their soul tremble in delight, makes the cum still streaming from them surge faster. "You're already dripping, damn..!" She must have set the metal aside since one hand curls down to grasp and squeeze at their dick through the soggy fabric of their hotpants. It feels like a lot of different good things all crammed together, like petting and pressure and electric pleasure.

Mike gives Icewolf kisses between their ears. "...shower?"

"But I haven't pegged them yet!"

Icewolf trembles. They agree, they haven't been taken by their keeper yet! They can take more, they'll clean up the mess! Promise!! Promise!!

Mike makes that soft noise that is the laugh she keeps low in her chest. "...Okay. But what about me?"

Icewolf knows what to do for Mike. Without hesitation. Icewolf throws Mike's legs over their shoulder, getting on all fours with their face between Mike's legs. They nuzzle into the softness that helped give them a family, then start to kiss and lick her inside and out. Icewolf is not adept at green magic, not like a real healer, but they know enough, and they know it makes their humans feel good to use it. It apparently feels especially good for Mike now, right there, and the noise she makes goes straight to Icewolf's soul.

"...Fuck, this is hot," Erica groans, grasping at Icewolf's hotpants and yanking them down. "You're both so hot-"

Mike trembles, legs clenching around Icewolf's neck, pressing the collar against them. "'Rica..! Jim..!!"

"Yeah..!" Erica's fingers find Icewolf's ass, working it open. They hear the splat of more of their cum hitting the floor, their knot clenching in time with their hole. It's quiet aside from wet noises and their human's heavy breathing. They both smell so thick of their magic and musk that Icewolf cannot tell up from down, only that Mike is in front of them and Erica is behind and that they are so fucking happy to be in the middle.

Erica is very good at the sex part. She works Icewolf open so skillfully that they don't realize the strap on is in them until Erica swears at her own pleasure. That is the only warning Icewolf gets before she starts to thrust like a wild animal, pounding into them as if to force their magic out of their dick by sheer violence. It is a good kind of violence (something Icewolf didn't think existed until they met their humans), desperate and wanting and supercharged with a covetous electricity which flows into Icewolf through every point of contact. They whine, a pitiful noise that leaks from between their teeth unbidden, even as they continue to use their tongue on Mike.

"Good boy," Mike whimpers. "G-good boy- fuck- 'Rica-"

"C'mon!"

Icewolf comes again, their knot filling up with the pressure of their arousal and pleasure faster than they can empty it. They're starting to see spots. They struggle to hold on, to not let themselves succumb until they know that both of their humans have been properly sated.

Mike comes first, body locking up and squirting slickness all over Icewolf's snout. They lick her clean, kissing her quivering skin and leaving the faintest impression of lovebites on her inner thighs. Mike is quiet, only the change in her breathing telling Icewolf that they did a very good job making their human feel the good chemicals (whatever chemicals are, whichever ones are the good ones, they did it, and they are especially proud that they did it for their human).

Erica chases after her pleasure, faster and faster, making Icewolf feel like they are melting from the waist down, until she screams and shudders through her own ecstacy. Erica is louder, and the way she digs her nails into Icewolf's hips is telling; she is definitely leaving marks under their fur, but more than that, her intent burns with affection and love that Icewolf will be feeling there for weeks, like she has branded them into her claim with her fingerprints. The air tastes of yellows, over bright and demanding attention.

Icewolf stays put, their head in Mike's lap as they come to terms with how unstable and wobbly their legs are after being so nicely used. They're still coming, painting the carpet under them in their magic, soaking the house in their scent and claim. They'll clean up any physical residue later. Once they can stand, (an act that makes the burn on their thigh creak and protest, something that is oddly satisfying) they scoop their precious humans up, one on each shoulder, and carry them to the shower.

Baths are important parts of human health, and Icewolf wants to make their humans healthy and happy always.

Chapter Text

When Dust finds him, Kink is clawing so hard at the walls that he is leaving marks, deep grooves trailing from where his fingertips started to where they have ended up coming to rest. The air around him is like steam, the room he has hidden in several degrees warmer than the hallways that Dust has wandered tracking him down. Dust is just relieved that the idiot is still in the castle, and not fucking off only fuck knows where in some other AU. The soft shreds of Kink's voice carried on his heavy breathing do little to help the itch in Dust's hands, or quell the urgency thrumming without a cause or a purpose in his crusty over-leveled soul.

What does make Dust 'feel better' (an odd choice of words when he cannot feel much of anything; more accurate terms would be akin to ceasing to feel uncomfortable, but those words don't quite convey the sentiment) is closing the distance between him and Kink, reaching out to pick him up in both hands. Kink swings an arm out to smack Dust away, his eyelight burning with a wild kind of heat. The aggression sparks a reflex in Dust, and the next thing he knows, he has Kink pinned under him, the other struggling to kick and claw his way out of Dust's grasp.

Kink's struggles are wild and imprecise, the thrashings of someone overcome by fever. None of the words he says sound like his safeword, although some of them sound like curses, and all of them sound like 'please stab me'. Dust forces Kink's arms behind his back, and after a bit of rummaging, ties them in place with a little of the ducktape that Dust has taken to keeping on his person. The loud adhesive noises drown out Kink's rather explicit threats, which Dust dismisses without even parsing. Kink is having a bad day, and Dust is having a Bad Day, and therefore Dust will be getting what he wants for both of their sake's.

With his property now packed for transport, Dust hefts Kink over his shoulder and carries him out of the hiding room, a room that is still bare of any furnishings. Dust takes the shortest route back to his own room, the place he keeps His Things, ignoring Kink's struggles and demands to be left alone. Dust still doesn't hear the safeword, and that means he doesn't have to bother pretending to give a fuck.

Papyrus keeps talking, something Dust also tunes out: what he has planned for him and Kink is something he doesn't want to think about his brother watching. Papyrus will absolutely wait in the Papyrus closet for Papyruses who don't watch their brothers do things they don't want being watched. Dust gestures to said closet, something he built out of cardboard and foam and other soundproof-y things he has gathered, and dutifully, Papyrus floats into it, closing the door of the closet behind him. A little bit of his scarf hangs out, but that's not the important part, so Dust pays it no more mind.

Kink is still throwing a fever-fit, so Dust throws him on the bed and chains him in place by the throat. The collar is small and tight, but they have tested it and it has yet to break no matter how either of them strain against it. A little bit of the anxiety in Dust lessens, having Kink where he is supposed to be, and gives himself a moment to sit back and assess the world with more awareness than a very murdery fish.

Dust's ribs hurt. It feels like he has a fracture. He scowls at that find. He hadn't noticed, but it isn't the first time. His HP is virtually untouched, as per usual, only a few fractions shaved off the top. He looks down at Kink, who is a little less violent with bondage in place, and thinks to add a blindfold for good measure. Like this, Kink will probably stay put, and Dust can break the heat out of him a bit more leisurely.

Then. Then Dust can get what he wants.

The steam coming off of Kink is impressive. It reminds Dust of a fleeting thought he had, an idea. He gets up, wandering over to a box of stray knickknacks. He shoves some junk out of the way until he finds what he is looking for: a candle.

"d-dust?! where-??" Kink sounds less angry and more tired, a wounded, sickly beast torn down to be as prey. Dust feels his teeth curl in a smirk. He doesn't answer Kink, only quietly returns to the bed and starts to slice the candle with a bone attack. Dust pulls Kink's shirt up to expose his ribs, and places slices of wax on them, grazing his fingertips over the ivory unmarred by battle, still white. Kink is trembling, his chest heaving as he tries and fails over and over to manage the heat burning him alive from the inside.

Just as Dust thought, the wax starts to melt, dripping between Kink's ribs to splatter the inside of his ribcage. Kink flinches, squirming more deliberately as more of the wax melts to coat him in its pale blue color, as it spreads his own heat over him.

Dust leaves Kink to enjoy that torture while he removes Kink's pants. He doesn't have to rip the fabric this time since Kink has stopped kicking him. The button pops free with a satisfying noise and, once Dust thinks to remove the boots and toss them elsewhere, the leather slides right down. Kink's legs spread in what Dust thinks is a reflex, ecto forming with alarming, satisfying speed. Dust paws at the wet, dripping slit with two fingers, feeling the nothing he is so used to a little less. His sense of urgency is gone, and in its place is a calmness that wars with the background static demanding blood.

Dust is getting what he wants.

"dust..!!" Kink sounds like he is begging for something. Dust gives it to him in one swift, fluid motion: it is surprisingly easy to force his hand into Kink's ecto, to slide his arm into Kink with wet, heated friction. Kink screams louder, his inner walls clenching down on Dust's arm as if to draw more of him in. Dust has to shift and bend forward, fisting Kink up to his elbow and flexing his hand for good measure. It feels like putting his hand in a pie, scalding hot and fresh from the oven, wetness and heat and pressure that sends tingles up Dust's arm to his soul. He starts to smell the fruity musk that Kink always seems to have clinging to him, heady and intoxicating even to Dust.

Dust flexes his wrist, and pumps his arm deep and slow, watching Kink's every move. Kink arches his back, which makes the hot wax slide over his bones at an angle. He gasps, and clenches, and Dust can feel some of that heat bleed away. Dust is not as patient as he once was, so he makes his next thrust faster, harder. Again, and again, and again. Kink gasps out swears and what sounds like Dust's name, the noises punched out of him.

The heat is punched out of him too. Dust doesn't let up until Kink comes on his arm hard enough that it hurts his joints.

When the pressure eases up enough that Dust can pull his arm free, he takes a moment to wipe the slick off his bones. He then takes the time to wipe the wax off of Kink. It is still warm and slick, so it comes off as easy as anything else, clinging to the towel he uses until Kink is mostly clean. The picky fuck will probably notice spots that Dust has no doubt missed, and demand to go out for a bath. Now, however, Dust can finally have what he wants. He can unhook Kink from the wall and lay down at his side. He can curl an arm under Kink's head and tuck him up against Dust's chest. He can listen to the faint pulse of Kink's soul, throbbing with magic and life, and Dust can finally...

Finally...

Rest.

Chapter Text

Nightmare's castle is his, made by him, for him, of him. The walls are as much a part of him as he wishes them to be at any given time, solid as stone when he wishes, and soft and giving as water when he wishes also. When Nightmare does not feel like walking the twists and turns of his massive estate, he will, sometimes... Cut corners. Walking through the walls means he can take the shortest path possible, and sometimes he wishes to for one reason or another.

Nightmare is just taking one of his usual shortcuts when he notices... something amiss. The wall is thicker, more viscous, less like water and more like wet cement that is very quickly drying-!! Night tries to cross the barrier faster, to demand the walls give to his will and obey, but neither happens. Instead, steady hands grip him from behind and pull sharply on his cloak, ripping it off. The momentum yanks Nightmare back and off his feet, sends the shiny silver clasp that held his cloak closed to clatter on the tiled floor.

When the walls finally harden, Night is almost a foot off the ground, his neck, wrists, and ankles trapped in the wall so that his back (and more dangerous still, his wings) are exposed in the room behind him, and his head, hands, pelvis, and knees are exposed in the hallway in front of him. Nightmare thrashes, sending tendrils out from his back to swipe and strike at the area around him, making it harder for whoever the hell it is to get close. Nightmare is too overwhelmed by panic to think clearly, to focus on sensing who or what is back there, what has him-

Nightmare is not omnipotent, and to be made so exposed-

"hey-" Stretch rounds the corner, sweating a bit from the exertion of running. He stumbles the last stretch of space between them, skidding to a halt to lean on the wall not far from Nightmare. One of his hands comes up to hold Nightmare's own, squeezing with a reassurance, an intent devoid of malice that does wonders to calm the primitive panic driving Nightmare to madness. "hey, shhh," Stretch murmurs. "i can explain-"

"help-" is the only word that Nightmare can utter. It's a pathetic, humiliating sound.

Stretch shifts to be in front of him, letting go of Nightmare's hand to instead hold his face steady, to wipe away discharge leaking from his sockets. "you're okay. promise. you're safe. we're sorry. we didn't mean to scare ya, swear we didn't, just a prank-" he mumbles, stroking over Nightmare's face. Nightmare knows those hands, knows the infinite gentleness they can wield for someone as undeserving as himself. He can smell the sincerity and regret sloughing off of him in waves, and that 'humanity' (lacking a better word, although that word always leaves a bad taste in Nightmare's metaphorical mouth) does more to soothe Nightmare's anxieties than anything else. He lets his sockets close, and with a clearer head, focuses his senses on the room behind him.

It is not quite correct to say that Nightmare can 'see' through the walls. He may have encouraged such a misunderstanding in the past, but it is just not true. Nightmare can only extend his senses through the walls as if they were a part of him, but they do not function as eyes. For him, it feels more like a limb, like sensing something on his back, or across his tongue if he wishes to sense scent or taste as well. Extending one's senses beyond what one is initially built to sense is a risky, mentally taxing business, one which Nightmare honed out of paranoia and desperation. He has little use for it most days lately, but now he maps out the room like it is in his hand. He feels the weight of the lone person standing inside, the scent of them. He lets his tendrils relax, retracting all but one which he extends further to curl around the other in-

...'Apology' may be the correct word: Apology, for reacting with violence. The tendril he uses moves slow, more precise and thoughtful, telegraphing. Nightmare knows how skittish Falsi is once bitten. There is a physical relief when his root meets an unflinching, welcoming hand, and gentle fingers stroke the length with gentle petting.

"...i am calm," Nightmare says, soft, bringing his awareness back to the forefront (literal and metaphorical). Stretch is still in front of him, visibly calmer now that Nightmare is also more in control. "explain: what has been done to me?"

Stretch continues his gentle petting, two fingers working at Nightmare's jaw on one side while the other strokes down his neck. "well, you're always sticking us in the wall, we just- we were getting you back for it. didn't think about, uh, that it might freak you out..." Stretch looks sheepish. "it was a trap..."

Nightmare tries to move his body, less with mindless desperation and more out of curiosity. "...i see." He has to admit, now that he isn't running on primitive fight-or-flight, it is an engenius, excellent trap. He can finally smell the faint traces of what might be some sort of chemical mixed with the magic and intent of Falsi. Nightmare is so used to his scent that it completely slipped under his radar until it was too late... "...it seems you are too clever for your own good. who's idea was this?"

"...mine. but, uh, i couldn't figure out how to execute it so..." Stretch gestures to the wall, behind Nightmare. "falsi is pretty smart."

'Smart' is an understatement. A creature that has no innate understanding of fundamental creation principles utilizing them in practice is a feat worthy of the term 'miracle'. Stretch, as usual, undersells himself by not recognizing that merely understanding the theories necessary to come up with such a plan is beyond what most mortals could dream of. Their intellectual capacity rivals that of the gods, and Nightmare-

Well, Nightmare has never felt safer being 'captured'.

"not the only reason though," Stretch continues. "it's also sorta an intervention."

"a what?" Nightmare isn't familiar with that terminology, not in the way he thinks Stretch is utilizing it.

"you always run off when we try to talk about it, so..." Stretch takes a deep breath. "you need to let someone help you groom your wings."

"no." Nightmare says instantly. He isn't going to let that happen. He can't- he-

Stretch shushes Nightmare like he can hear the screaming in his soul, petting softly. "they're tangled and they hurt, right? you can't do it by yourself, or they wouldn't have gotten this bad."

Nightmare has a lot of rather graphic memories that compel him to deny this. He leans on the metaphorical door, keeping the worst of it suppressed. He doesn't want to think about them in detail, or acknowledge them, or speak their name and usher their manifestation into the world. He demands his quivering soul to heel if it cannot heal, and takes one last, shaky breath. "it will hurt." He knows it will hurt to let them be groomed in such a way, when even Stretch's gentlest petting leaves them sore for hours after.

"...what about pain killers?"

Nightmare stares at Stretch. "whats?"

"pain killers, you know-" Stretch cuts himself off. "you don't know. ok. so. sometimes we have to do things that hurt in order to feel better, and if they hurt too much we use pain killers so we can't feel pain while we get it done. like, if i broke a bone, and it didn't set right, and grew funny, then i'd have to break it again to fix it, but that hurts, so-"

"you can make this painless?" Nightmare asks, since he knows if he does not, Stretch will ramble unending.

"...well, not me, but i know fal can do it..."

Nightmare has to hold that metaphorical door shut a little tighter. His tendril, still wrapped around Falsi's arm, constricts at the reminder of him. He flexes his wings in an anxious habit, and winces at the spike of pain it gives him for the trouble. "...if- swear to me i will know no pain from this."

"...i promise we'll do our best to make this painless for you," Stretch says. It isn't the same, but it is far more honest than if it were.

Sincerity. Honesty. Love. Affection. Worry. Nightmare tastes it on the air, tastes the unfathomable depths of their concern for him. He takes one last deep breath, and gives Stretch a nod. "see it done, then," he mumbles. If it isn't done now, he will likely run from it.

Stretch sags in relief, pulling away only long enough to send a message with his little metal device (his cellphone). Nightmare feels the vibrations in the other room, feels Falsi shift, and his scent change in response. When Stretch puts his phone away, his hands go right back to touching Nightmare, petting and soothing him like a wounded animal. Nightmare doesn't dislike it; he feels like one, vulnerable with his scars on display and his insecurities wafting off him in a miasma. It is only the sheer level of trust in the hands on him, in front and behind, that keeps him from making a protest.

The doctor strides forward, gathering the length of Nightmare's tendril to him as he does. He had been on the far side of the room to avoid Nightmare's tantrum, so there is much to gather, to drape on his shoulders. When he is close enough, he places a hand between Nightmare's shoulder-blades, a gesture that makes Nightmare shiver and his wings twitch. That hand is steady, cool and detached in its gestures, a foil against the maelstrom of conflicting emotion that wafts from the soul at its source.

What Nightmare feels next is a swift pricking sensation in his spine, square between his scapulae. It hurts like a pinch if a pinch could be stronger, deeper, more invasive, but it is quickly followed by a tingling numbness that spreads outward. The ache in his wings is washed away by a pervasive emptiness of sensation, one which makes it hard to maintain control of his extended senses. His sense of smell is muted, like the whole world behind him is shrouded in a thick mist. He knows Falsi is still there, and all is well, only because he believes he does.

Stretch nuzzles Nightmare's skull. "doing okay?"

Nightmare nods, the action making his head swim. pain and pressure are gone but oddly enough, Nightmare can still feel the dull trembling heat that accompanies touch to his wings, stimulation of the softer, more sensitive components. He knows Falsi is handling his wings, maybe stretching them to their fullest, maybe carding through the tangled mess of leaves. He cannot feel it all in his wings, but the signals travel just fine to his soul, to his pelvis, humble little jolts of warmth and need.

"honey..." Nightmare whispers, uncertain if he wants to be heard for the embarrassment of it. Stretch hears him, smiling with a soft flush of that pretty orange hue. When he moves to leave a kiss on Nightmare's cheek, Nightmare is the one to turn his head and press teeth to teeth. Stretch makes a soft noise that floods his senses, reciprocating, deepening it. What few senses Nightmare is left with are overwhelmed with the sound and scent of Stretch, a distraction, a blessing.

Nightmare cannot feel it exactly, but the feedback he gets tells him that Falsi has his hands on Nightmare's wings in earnest. He feels like he is burning up, marrow like molten lava cascading through his system in a slow roll. His hips twitch in a rhythm that he wonders might match whatever is happening back there. He wishes his arms were free to grasp at something, someone in particular, for support, for grounding.

Stretch does not break the kiss for more than a moment, but a hand slides down to feel for Nightmare's hip. When it gets there, it lingers with little squeezes until it travels lower again, dipping down to lift the hem of Nightmare's skirts, to feel what might be underneath. Those long, reliable fingers find Nightmare manifested, hot and slick and trembling.

Nightmare bucks into that hand, attempting to signal with what little he can that he is receptive to such advances. Stretch breaks the kiss to ask in words, "you okay with..?"

"who said you could stop?" Nightmare tries to growl. He's rather stuck, rather worked up, and Stretch is right here. The man smiles that sly, mischievous smile that Nightmare is rather fond of, the one that looks better pressed against him in some capacity. He chooses to press it against Nightmare's throat, and at the same moment uses one of his sticky fingers to press into Nightmare's asshole.

The noise Nightmare chokes back is a fragile, embarrassing one. He knows from Stretch's chuckle that the bastard could feel it in him, quivering in his ribs, his throat. Stretch peppers Nightmare in kisses as he stretches him out, slow and gentle like he always does. The tingling heat builds, and Nightmare cannot tell wherefore or why any longer. He is drunk on it, on feeling safe, on feeling wanted, on feeling cared for. When he comes, it is a slow, easy thing, a rush of relief, of satisfaction that sheds off of him like slick rain.

Stretch makes a noise that sounds more like predator than prey, deep and guttural and hungry. He kneels down, tucking his head under Nightmare's skirts to press his face into Nightmare's slit, and his tongue into his entrance. He drinks from Nightmare with a persistence rivaling that of a hungry dog, one that turns the slow, inevitable release of pleasure into desperation and urgency for the next high.

Nightmare knows only the heat, the overwhelming scent of arousal and want and love. He comes again with a louder cry, trembling hard enough to rattle his ribs.

There is still no real awareness from the back room, no pain, no pressure, but gentle fingers stroke gently, fondly at the tips of Nightmare's available senses, first the topmost exposed vertebrae, then the bottom most. Falsi is still there, still has him in hand.

That is a tangible relief, a balm to Nightmare's anxieties.

Stretch stands up, licking pink slick from his teeth. When he kisses him, Night can taste the sugar of his own musky sweetness. It's a twisted kind of taboo, but he doesn't dislike it. Stretch always tastes like sugar, it might as well be his. It's better when it's his.

There is the faint sound of a zipper. Nightmare braces on reflex, and is rewarded by a throbbing length of heat grinding between his slick folds. The friction gets his clit in passing, and he doesn't bother to suppress the noise he makes. Stretch grinds with a little more urgency, before pressing the tip to Nightmare's ass and easing, slow, by increments, into his magic. Nightmare is thankful for the support of the wall, for his limbs feel weak, and he thinks he'd crumble rather inelegantly under his own weight. He feels weighed down by pleasure, by want, by heat that has flooded his skull and made it harder to think, to breathe.

The first thrust rocks Nightmare from the inside out. The second punches the rest of his logical thought out of him. What follows after is repetition, slick, grinding pleasure stuffed into him where he is left helpless to suffer it. He thinks he is crying, but it is hard to tell when the sensation of Stretch's kisses, his hands, his voice, take precedence over whatever else is happening to him.

"night-" Stretch rasps between one kiss and the next. "f- fuck-" He sounds as overtaken as Nightmare feels, and that satisfies a greedy, spiteful part of Nightmare's soul. When he comes, it fills him, and it fulfills him: Nightmare is awed by the knowing that, as wondrous as Stretch makes him feel, Stretch feels rather nice in turn. Knowing he can bring pleasure- Nightmare weeps.

He might be a tad emotional.

Stretch cradles Nightmare's skull to his shoulder, letting him hide while they both ride out the aftershocks together. The warmth and closeness makes Nightmare want to sleep, to curl up entangled with what brings him this sense of safety. He hears a soft buzzing noise, feels Stretch shift to check his phone, to reply. Time is relative, and fickle, and Nightmare is uncertain how long it is between the fuss with the phone and the moment the wall starts to give way around him.

Nightmare falls backwards. Stretch takes hold of both of his hands and steadies him through it, reassuring pressure until the last moment and he must let go. Nightmare is caught by strong arms and pulled up high. He is still disoriented after the overwhelming stimulation of intimacy, but he manages to blink the heat away and look up at Falsi's concerned, affectionate face.

"if you're done, i demand... rest..." Nightmare orders, resentful that he cannot put any force in the words when he feels this worshiped.

"Of course, moonlight," Falsi assures, already moving by the feel of it. Nightmare sags, dizzy, so much so he cannot even enjoy the sensation of feeling so tall. He blinks, and they are out in the hall again. Another blink, and Stretch is back at his side, holding his hand again. Time passes in bursts, in flashes. Nightmare is laid out on his front, in what smells like his pile of decadent pillows. The hands on him never change, and when he drifts off, it is for a long, well deserved rest, had in a safety he is still uncertain he deserves.

Chapter Text

Nightmare flips the page of his book, leaning on the cushion propped up in front of him. He had been struggling to get the perfect level of elevation for his armrest, up until a rather foolish soul volunteered to assist a few hours ago. Now, he had the perfect setup, and it was all thanks to Killer.

Killer had been having another of his Bad Days. Nightmare hadn't expected to find him wandering around like a rather stabby lost puppy, but such things happened. With his usual keepers out on some errand, Nightmare decided to take reining him in upon himself. This time, however, instead of smashing Killer into the floor until he woke up, he decided on a different, less violent measure: bondage. Killer is bound with his arms over his head, locked in place by the resin that makes up the walls and floor. He is flat on his back, his legs up and bent at the knees, spread out in a v-shape with his ankles angled inward, affixed to a pole of resin mid-air in order to use his legs as a support base for the pillow that Nightmare is leaning on.

Nightmare sits on Killer's chest, leaning on said pillow with the book he is reading in front of him. He can feel every time Killer twitches, every time a humorless laugh racks his body, every time his distorted soul spasms against itself under his tailbone. He ignores when Killer speaks, knowing it is all nonsense, the mindless jabbering of a mindless drone (although some of it has a point: Nightmare is heartless and cruel, he is a freak, he is unforgivable; these are objectively true). Instead, Nightmare reads his book, passing the time as he waits for more competent hands to take his minion away for treatment.

The incessant wrongness that buzzes through Killer's soul gradually weakens. It never really goes away, but it becomes muted as it is dragged into the background. Nightmare yawns, pillowing his head in his arms atop his book. Normally, he would be too anxious to nap, but as of late his anxiety has dwindled, and he is more tired than alert.

Perhaps... if he just closes his sockets... Perhaps a bit of rest will do no harm...


Killer never really knows where or how he will wake up after one of his blackouts. Lately, it has been a little more consistent, cycling the wheres between 'in bed' or 'on a table' and the hows between 'warm' and 'warm and dizzy', but there are always the occasional random days where he wakes up in a closet, or on top of a bookshelf, or that one time he was stuck in the oven and Horror was screaming rather loudly about needing someone to come and drag him out. He's found himself waking up to pain, to pleasure, to cold, to being hung by his underwear from the mouth of one of the decorative gargoyles. So when Killer wakes up and finds he can't move his arms or legs, it doesn't register as being a cause for concern. The lack of leather straps is unusual, since that is what all of the dungeon's tables have. The weight on Killer's chest doesn't raise alarm either, not until he thinks that maybe it is a little smaller than he is used to.

It is the little discrepancies that motivate Killer to open his sockets and look at his situation. He blinks to bring the darkness of the room around him into focus. There is, as he thought, a person sitting on him, their body small, even compared to Killer. He can feel them shift, breathing slow and steady in sleep, but the softness of it doesn't hide their identity from him: Killer knows Nightmare, even from the back.

Killer knows Nightmare, but he has never seen him so... at peace. He cannot see his boss' face, but the feel of his negligible weight laid fully on him makes Killer realize just how tense the guy always is, has always been. He tries to reach out, to sit up and touch, but Killer is immediately reminded that he is welded to the floor, his legs secured in place. Killer is trapped, helpless.

It's kinda hot. Definitely hot. Killer has a thing for bondage, sue him.

It's not a moment after thinking it, as if in response to his impure thoughts, that Nightmare's tendrils extend out from under his clothes. The squirming masses crawl up Killer's body, wriggling and clinging as if they each have a mind of their own. One of them tangles itself around one of Killer's arms. Another winds around his throat, probing at his jaw and teeth almost curiously. Another still winds around one of his legs. Killer's soul flutters at the attention, at the sensation of being stroked and squeezed all over, all at once. That would not bother him, except that his soul happens to be on the outside of his body at all times, and that fluttering grinds it up into Nightmare's pelvis.

The most bold of the tendrils slides under Killer's shorts, curling and winding itself through his pelvis and sacrum. It's hard to keep quiet. Killer isn't sure why he wants to keep quiet, except that he worries it might end if Nightmare wakes up...

He doesn't know when he'll get a chance to be this close to the boss when he's sleeping again. He didn't even know boss could sleep; Nightmare never seems real enough to need something as mundane as sleep. The boss is dangerous, and powerful, and all-knowing. The boss is something out of reach for a guy like Killer.

More of those tendrils invade and coil Killer's body, one curling up his lumbar until it can weave around and through his ribs. His sockets water, his toes curl; he knew Nightmare's tentacles were soft, but he hadn't known they could be this gentle. Killer's only experiences with the damn things involved being yanked and thrown and beaten, usually to wake him up from a blackout or separate him from something that could have potentially killed him (like Dust). Killer has to admit that he likes this approach better, personally. He likes just getting to lay there and be the lattice on which his boss' vines grow.

Killer's dick manifests on reflex, responding to the comfort and pleasure he's soaking in like sweat. A tendril curls around that too, stroking the outside a few times before forcing its way in through the tip. Killer can't keep his voice down when that happens, groaning low.

The body on top of Killer stiffens, then once again goes lax. There is a soft, low sound, like the rustling of leaves in the wind, like distant thunder, like wind chimes. The sound makes Killer's magic throb with a dull heat. The tendrils begin to slicken, lubricating with something just as sticky as the usual ooze that Nightmare is drenched in, but which smells of sugar. The tendrils that Killer can see start to turn pink, to drip in it. Curious, he parts his teeth to lick the one near his mouth, and shivers in surprise at the sweetness. It is nothing like the usual bitterness or spice of the darker ooze. He tries to suck the whole tendril down, another reflex he isn't particularly broken up about. The tendril snakes down his throat with ease, filling his senses with that sweetness and his throat with pressure.

Killer is unsure how long he is left like that, absolutely covered in slick friction and heated pleasure. Arousal builds higher and higher with nowhere to go, Killer's body trapped within and without. He thinks he could have come many, many times, but he doesn't have it in him to count. That would be too much work.

Eventually, though, Nightmare shifts again, and this time he doesn't stay down. The boss sits upright, stretching his arms languidly over his head. Killer can see something moving under his cape, two somethings, which flex at odd angles before settling again. All that movement makes Nightmare's pelvis grind into Killer's soul, and Killer feels a wet softness there that he hadn't been able to before.

Nightmare turns, looking down at Killer like he forgot he was there. The mess of black ooze has fallen away from his bones, leaving pale white exposed. Killer has never seen the boss' right socket before, and the scar there surprises him when it shouldn't.

"...awake, then," Nightmare says. His tendrils begin to retract, untangling themselves from Killer's body. The more they retreat, the more Nightmare seems to flush in pale blues under pink sweat. As he stands up, the resin holding Killer's body in place melts away, leaving him with full mobility.

"boss..?" Killer feels light headed yet, something he is reminded of when he attempts to sit up, only to drop back down again. When Nightmare doesn't immediately flee into the shadows, Killer is emboldened. "stay?"

Tendrils thrash absently at Nightmare's feet, but he steps to one side, and sits on the floor by Killer's head. He does not look Killer in the face, but it is hard to hide such a vivid flush. The color reminds Killer of things that make the red in him abate, that remind him of who he wants to be, rather than who he is.

Killer's dick is still at rapt attention. The taste of sweetness lingers in the back of his throat. He's in a particular mood, and Nightmare is right here.

"closer?" Killer thinks that the few feet of distance between them is too much, especially for what he wants to do. Nightmare continues to avoid eye contact, scooting a little closer. Killer thinks it is like coaxing a skittish cat into his lap. "closer?"

When Nightmare gets up on his knees again to scoot closer yet, Killer takes the opening he sees, tilting his body and kicking himself into position with his face under Nightmare's pelvis. He grips his boss by the hips to hold him there, adjusting to the fragrant dark under the cloak that reminds him more of safety than it rightfully ought to.

The body on top of him, in his hands, trembles more than Killer expects. He hears the sound of those tendrils striking the floor, cracking like whips, but they don't hit him this time. It makes him flinch, but Killer keeps his grip, remembering how much it hurts to be let go out of fear. "'s okay?" He asks like he's been taught to ask, like they ask him when he's the one trembling.

There are a few tense moments of shaky breathing. "...if this is about my sleep habits, you have no obligation-" Nightmare speaks like he is explaining the parameters of a mission. Killer shuts him up with a squeeze of his hands, pulling that pelvis lower.

Killer doesn't think he has to explain much, since he knows his boss can feel what he feels like one sees light or hears sound. "you telling me no?" is what he asks instead, bringing a hand down only long enough to move Nightmare's skirts out of the way, revealing the faint glow of his bare, slick ecto where it's formed a rather welcoming slit in his pelvis.

Nightmare doesn't say anything, but the noise he makes is the most fragile one Killer has ever heard come out of him, an ephemeral fragment of a whimper carried on a shaky exhale. Killer must still be loopy, to be this bold with his boss, but he isn't being thrown out of the room, or told off, or even struck harshly in rebuke. Nightmare stays as still as he seems capable, and it's only Killer's guidance that brings him down low enough to sit on his face.

Killer licks at the pert, swollen nub of magic that Nightmare has undefended. The change in his boss' breathing, in the stability of his legs on either side of Killer's head, is rather satisfying. When that pussy is slick enough to drip onto Killer's face, he switches targets, and plunges his tongue in to explore. Nightmare loses his balance, slumping forward to brace on Killer's chest with both hands. Those inner walls tremble and constrict, responding with a sensitivity that makes Killer's abused dick throb.

It's nice. This is nice, just a calm, lazy little evening spent eating out his god-master and making him cry like it's the best he's ever had. Killer hardly has to work at all to get the reward, which is honestly exactly the way he likes it. He can lay there, use his tongue a little (maybe a lot, who knows, his perspective on that matter has probably been skewed), and then lick up the musky nectar that comes part and par with Nightmare's climax.

Nightmare, for his part, seems to like it. He's laid himself out on top of Killer, doubled over and trembling as he drips on both Killer and the floor. Hearing him pant and gasp, feeling him quiver, does a lot for Killer's budding ego. It also does a lot to make him think that maybe, maybe their relationship can be more than master and cat-who-leaves-dead-rats-on-the-carpet.

Killer kneads at those hips, considering whether or not to try for round two. Either way, he doesn't really intend to get up.

Chapter Text

"I told you this would happen," Birgir says as he opens the door. It is no easy feat, given how he is also supporting a very wiggly, limping canine monster on top of everything else. The cold winter wind is irritating his ears, no matter how flat he tries to lay them against his skull, and his heavy boots are hard to walk in even when he isn't wading through knee-deep snow. The extra weight of a stupid old dog who won't stop whining isn't helping.

"Did not!" Doggo tries to snarl. He keeps bouncing from foot to foot, yelping every time weight is put on either one.

"I did so," Birgir grumbles. "I literally said, 'put some shoes on, they salted the road,' but did you listen?" The answer is obvious, but Birgir makes sure to clarify: "No."

"Salt doesn't burn," Doggo complains, wiggly the entire painful way to the couch. He immediately flops to lay on his back, elevating his hurt feet.

Birgir wrinkles his nose at the whole thing; they will never get the smell of snowy-wet dog out of those cushions. Not that those particular cushions aren't already beyond saving for other reasons (like soapy-wet dog, and rainy-wet dog, and ode-du-chisps-powder-and-bones). The couch is well-loved and well-used. Snow and dog smell is honestly long overdue.

"Salt absolutely burns. That's why it melts the ice." Birgir starts shedding his own snowy outside clothes, kicking his wet boots into the corner to dry and hanging up his coat. "Now stay put. I'll-" the salt needs to come off, so- "I'll get a wash cloth or something..."

Doggo is already starting to tear up from the pain. He whimpers, nodding a few times in Birgir's general direction.

The cat monster makes his way briskly to the bathroom, getting a bowl of water and a cloth. He isn't fond of water, but he likes the idea of leaving road salt on Doggo's paws even less. Chemical burns are no joke.

Birgir carries the water back into the livingroom, settling at the opposite end of the couch so those stupid salted feet are put easily in his lap. "Don't kick me," he warns. When Doggo doesn't give him any lip for once, Birgir knows he needs to be extra gentle.

A quick swipe of each paw gets the loose grains off. Birgir rinses the cloth and starts on them again, tending each of Doggo's little paw pads one at a time. Doggo's feet are covered in soft black fur, but his paw pads are pink and plush. They have already started to crack, looking dried and burnt and painful. Birgir tries to shove a little green magic into the water when he wets the cloth again, and dabs as soft as he can manage. He tries to soak the tender beans without hurting the dumb stupid idiot more than he already hurt himself.

Birgir thinks quietly to himself that Doggo has handsome toe beans. It takes a lot of self control not to squish them. His claws are trimmed neatly too, shiny like little black pearl daggers.

Doggo trembles and whimpers at the beginning. He whines louder when the first wipe gets the salt chunks off. As Birgir works, he gets quieter, the tension easing until his leg is limp in Birgir's grasp.

The cat monster switches from one foot to the other, wetting each paw pad a little more so they won't sit dry, until the cracking fades. By that point, Doggo almost looks like he is asleep, eyes shut and muzzle slack just enough to show off his front teeth. There are still tears caught in his fur, glistening and shiny.

Birgir has to admit, if only to himself, that the stupid dog looks… Really cute like this. And his paw pads are healed now. And they are so squishable… He takes a moment to just… Gently knead them with his thumbs. Just to check that they really are healed, of course. Birgir shivers as his thumb sinks into the plush softness, repeating the motion with his other thumb. Warm and soft and- Birgir has a weakness, okay?!

He has no idea how long he is doing that, just kneading Doggo's paw pads like he is marking his territory (which he totally isn't, don't be silly), before he hears Doggo whimper again. It isn't a pained whimper, not like the distress noises he had been making. Birgir usually only hears this kind of noise when their shared datemates were around-

Oh.

Birgir looks up, feeling heat flood his own face. There is a tent in Doggo's pants which is getting bigger by the second, bigger for every twitch of Birgir's thumbs against his paws. Whatever brief nap Doggo had been able to scrounge up is over, his hand sleepily fumbling to loosen his belt and free his-

Birgir feels his tail puff out in all directions. Doggo is- uh- sizable. Yeah. He'd go with sizable. Birgir doesn't usually pay attention to Doggo's assets during intimate moments (not when their human is available to pay attention to), so he's never noticed before. Maybe he hasn't wanted to notice, since he's always assumed he prefers girls- definitely prefers girls, absolutely prefers girls.

Birgir hasn't felt his pants this tight since he earned that stupid nickname of his.

"Who's there?" Doggo asks, his words slightly slurred together. "...Pet?"

Birgir realizes he is still massaging Doggo's feet. "It's- uh… me..?"

Doggo stiffens again, and Birgir thinks he can just make out a warm tint to his muzzle, then a bright glow. "You- me? Pet?"

"I can stop if- uh- you wanna..." Birgir isn't sure if they'd ever talked about doing 'stuff' with each other (as opposed to with their human). Well. He knows Sans and Doggo have worked something out but he didn't have anything like that himself.

There is a tense, awkward silence that feels overly full. "...It's nice..." Doggo admits, no doubt begrudging the truth of it. His paw flexes against Birgir's hands. "If you don't mind petting..."

Birgir looks at where Doggo's hand is holding his dick. He looks at where his own hand is holding Doggo's paw. He can walk away right now and forget about whatever is happening, go beat one off in the shower and take a nap. Instead, Birgir gives another gentle squeeze. They can see where this goes and-

Doggo lays back like what Birgir is doing is the best thing that's ever been done to him. His hand works his own shaft slowly, savoring the moment. His tongue lolls out through parted teeth, and tears prick at his squinted eyes again. He huffs out a soft noise, a low growl building in his chest as his hand speeds up.

Birgir decides that he... might like this. A little. There is something about feeling Doggo's pulse thrum in his hands, watching him languidly chase his pleasure. Doggo isn't usually so calm (one reason they didn't hang out as often outside the group), but chilled-out like this, Birgir can kinda see the appeal.

Birgir is just about to reach for his own aching length when they both hear the rev of a familiar engine: Papyrus' car is back, and with it, the rest of their household. Doggo must have heard it too, because his ears prick at the same instant and he sits up to look out the window. Birgir watches him, too anxious to move. Doggo turns to look back at him, and Birgir can swear he feels a silent agreement that if-

If- if they're gonna make this work, they need to do it… alone.

Doggo quickly stuffs himself back in his pants, and Birgir slides off the couch to hide in his room and pretend he didn't actually think the stupid frumpy dog was kinda cute.

Chapter Text

"I do not know why you insist on earning your pay," Falsi says with a tittering lilt of absolute delight, "when you know I would gladly unload my burdensome riches on you freely." He cinches the last security belt, smile wide and gleeful, as it ought to be.

"because i like working for you~" Kink replies. "you're my favorite customer~!"

"And here I thought I was your favorite brother-in-law."

"you can be two things~"

Kink giggles along with Falsi as he tests and tugs at the restraints. Falsi's fucking machine is his pride and joy, his favorite birthday present, and Kink loves helping him test out new attachments. The thing is massive and complex, a marvel of sexy engineering, and Kink is about to take back the record for longest-on-it-without-passing-out-from-cumming-too-much. The restraints are comfortable and secure, reinforced to make holding strong sluts like himself in place so his squirming doesn't mess up calibration.

Kink was naked, his arms stretched up over his head, his body tilted back to make his spine arch and stretch just shy of a stress position. His legs were spread wide and bent slightly, secured so that the soles of his feet could be reached if desired. His body was supported strategically as if in a web of leather and metal, while making certain not to be in the way of any of the many spindly robotic arms that can be made to act independently with their attachments. The control panel was set off a little to one side, with a seat for perfect front-row-viewing.

Everything was just as Kink remembered, except that there was an odd new attachment on the side of the control panel.

"I suppose that is true," Falsi hummed, leaning in to give Kink a smooch on the forehead. Kink nuzzled his face, neck, hand, showing affection however he can right back. "Ready~? We're gonna start the clock~"

"of course i am!" Kink was born ready!

Falsi made sure Kink was safe and secure, checking him over one last time, before going to the control panel. He gave a countdown, then flipped the switch and started to run the first routine for the machine. Falsi always was a proponent of foreplay.

Kink relaxed at the first brushes of ticklish, teasing feathers. They slid up and down his spine, his ribs, his arms and legs, tracing delicate patterns that summoned his arousal as if by name. A slow, tender warm-up was just Falsi's style as often as not, and Kink sighed as he let himself get in the mood.

"Oh-" Falsi called out, making Kink blink to see past the overhead spotlight. The man had stepped away from the control panel, and was already heading for the door. "I've completely forgotten~ I have an important task to do, so I have to get going~"

The machine continued to work, the feathers teasing at Kink's sensitive places. He tensed, straining at his restraints on reflex. "but-"

"Don't worry, sweetie," Falsi soothed. "I'll send someone else to watch out for you~ Just have fun~ The timer is running~"

Kink huffed, again closing his sockets and making himself relax. The mechanical sounds made by the machine were like white noise, familiar and soothing and soft. As he lay there, he became more and more aware of his sensitivity, the building heat and need. The feathers became damp with his building sweat, and left trails of wet heat in their wake that only exacerbated the growing ache. Kink started to pant, arching and straining for more friction he was never going to get on this setting.

Just when Kink was about to reach his limit, the machine shifted, and Kink felt the soft tickle of the feathers on his ribs exchanged for the more penetrating insistence of brushes. The brushes hooked through Kink's intercostal spaces and got both the inner and outer surfaces of his ribs at once in a sort of brush sandwich, which felt way, way more arousing than it sounded on paper. The gentle stimulation quivered and slid up and down the arch of each rib, sometimes individually with one brush, sometimes all at once with several working in tandem. Kink sighed out in bliss. "yeah..! that's the good stuff..!"

"I am glad you approve."

Kink's sockets snapped open at the sound of that fucker's voice. He held his breath, suppressing the distracting pleasure to glare at the son of a bitch who dared to stand at the machine's control panel. When Falsi said he'd be getting someone else to supervise, he didn't expect it to be Dream. "why are you here?"

"I volunteered to assist," Dream said, stroking over the body of the control panel. "Nobody else is available now."

"really?" Kink couldn't quite keep his distaste out of his voice. He couldn't keep his arousal out of it either. "no one else?"

Dream put his hand on the little attachment on the side of the control panel. As if in response, the brushes massaging Kink's ribs went a little faster. "No one else. But if you're so uncomfortable with me at the helm, I can turn it off, and you can try again later."

Kink knew damn well that if he took that option, it would be a while before Cross let him live it down. He grit his teeth, then let them slide into a smirk. "no, it's fine. you might even do me a favor, for once, since with you here there's no way in hell i'll get off." With such a turn off as Dream in the room, Kink was rather confident he could last indefinitely. He'd just wait it out until Falsi or someone else could come take over.

Dream returned his smirk with a sharp, predatory grin of his own, one that gleamed in the dark just beyond the umbra of the spotlight. "Is that a challenge?"

"no. i don't make challenges that are this unfairly difficult."

Dream chuckled soft and low and infuriating. He touched the control panel attachment again, cracking his neck as he did so. "Duly noted."

Suddenly, Kink felt something perforate his sacrum foramen, one at a time. He knew what was going to happen before it started: tiny pipe-cleaner-like brushes slid in and out of each foramen, spinning in different directions and speeds as they did. The friction wrenched a groan out of Kink, his magic pooling in his pelvis, responding enthusiastically to the stimulation. He would have bucked his hips had he the range of motion to do so.

"Enjoying yourself yet, dear Kink?" Dream's smug glee colored his voice.

Kink sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, swallowing back another noise before making himself grin with all the spite he could muster. "enjoy what? have you done something?" Is it in yet, motherfucker?

Dream tapped the attachment again (something Kink was starting to think was an accommodation for Dream to use the machine: man wasn't bright). "Nothing of any note," he snarks back. Seconds later, a light buzz is Kink's only warning before a vibrator is pressed to his pubic symphysis from the inside of his pelvic inlet.

The vibe was slick with some sort of lubricant, and the tingling burn that flooded wherever it touched made Kink think it was laced with something potent. Kink gasped, his toes curling against his will. His mana lines throbbed, the molten heat and electric pulse of his need beating stronger, faster through his system. That asshole had no fucking business making Kink feel this good, had no fucking business feeding on his emotions while he did it. Kink was going to punch him so hard the fucker bounced through three liminal spaces on the way down.

Kink was gonna come-

The brushes slowed their attentions, and the vibrator lost two clicks worth of intensity. The now slick grind of the pipe cleaner in Kink's sacrum slowed to a teasing, tormenting crawl. Kink gasped as if for air he didn't need, shaking as the grip of pleasure on his soul finally weakened, only to leave him wanting.

"It seems I have yet to do anything noteworthy," Dream mused. "Allow me to try again..."

Kink was only just catching his breath when the machine whirred to life again, resuming the intense pace from before. Kink swore, tense as an over-coiled spring. Just as he thought he was adjusting to it, a soft touch knocked him off balance again: a feather attachment began to stroke up and down his arched spine, adding a gentleness to foil the intensive demands for his pleasure. The dichotomy shakes Kink up more than he'd care to admit in present company (because Fuck You, Dream, you prick). It continued, on, and on, and on, until Kink thought he couldn't take even one more moment before he'd come-

And then it stopped again. "Still nothing?" Dream asked, smile sharp and piercing, eyelights knowing in a way Kink hated that he liked. "Well, I suppose I will have to try again~"

The cycle repeated itself. Over. And over. And over. Kink was brought to the brink of ecstasy, the pleasure dragged out of him by force. He didn't bother trying to get a word in edgewise, rather preferring to endure it, to let it wash through him. The heat in his system built up higher, and higher, and higher, the need more intense with every iteration. Kink was soaked in his own sweat, dizzy from the heat. It came to the point where he thought it was starting to hurt, just how hot he was.

That was when things changed: the vibrator left Kink's pelvis, which allowed the dripping buildup of magic to finally manifest. He made a duel set, dick and pussy, both weeping his arousal all over himself. His dick stood at rapt attention, while he felt his pseudoflesh quiver and clench on the emptiness demanding to be filled in him.

Dream's prideful chuckle made that emptiness tremble. It also made Kink want to throw something heavy in his general direction. "Oh, dear Kink, is that a tower in your lap or are you just happy to see me?"

"go. fuck. yourself." Kink spat each word with its own venom.

"Fuck me yourself, coward."

The machine resumed its teasing, but this time instead of his pelvis, the vibrator assaulted Kink's dick, stroking up and down the length without remorse. Kink thought his pelvis would melt, how the vibrations lit up every sensor he seemed to have for pleasure from the waist down. He thrashed, and if he did make a noise he was far too blinded from pleasure to notice. He was definitely-

-Denied again, as the vibe was taken away just short of his completion. Kink snarled in outrage. "useless prick!" He snapped. "fucking jackass!"

Dream smirked. "Oh, precious, whatever has you this worked up?"

"you- you know what the fuck you're doing so-"

"Do I, now?" Dream hummed, tapping the console again. The vibe came back, just long enough to tease Kink with the idea of an orgasm, before retracting again. "Did you not say that I could not? I would hate to make you a liar~"

Kink swore again. His head swam, his dick ached for attention, and his soul was clenching and twisting in his ribs, dripping wet like his slit. "i hate you-"

"That isn't your safeword, nor does it sound like you want to find climax by my hand." Dream brought the vibe down again, once more reminding Kink how close he was to release. "But I am practicing patience, so please do take your time~"

The smarmy fuck had the audacity to talk to Kink like that. If Kink wasn't tied to a chair he'd have a black eye by now. Fucker. Asshole. Prick. Motherfucker. Kink made it through three more rounds of torment. Three. The heat was too much, his LT boiling him from the inside. If Kink didn't have a fucking condition he'd never stoop so low as to even consider- "j-just fuck me already!"

"What was that?" Dream hummed, turning the vibe on and off again. "A little louder, dear."

"i said, make me come already you useless sack of-" Kink is rudely cut off when the vibe is applied to the tip of his dick, the setting low enough not to get him anywhere, yet still enough to make words difficult. He was going to kick Dream's ass so hard, the bastard. How fucking dare he?!

"I will try harder, then," Dream cooed. Kink could hear his smile, even if he couldn't see it through closed sockets. Kink could also hear the sound of the machine getting a new attachment ready for use. He didn't have any clue what was in store for him until he felt the first gentle prod of the dildo at his trembling pussy.

Kink wasn't expecting much. He regularly took dicks of such majesty that no common dildo could ever hope to compare. All of the dildo attachments that Kink knew were in the machine were well and good for casual fun, but in his opinion nothing to write home about. The first few inches were well within expected parameters, which Kink could take without foreplay. He expected that to be the end of it. The dildo, however, seemed to keep going.

And going.

Kink was strapped in the chair in such a way that he couldn't see down there well. He had to assess his situation by feeling. After the first foot of Above-Average-Artificial-Dick was inside him, Kink started to think Falsi had gone and gotten something custom made. He clenched on the extension, shivering at the tight, wet friction. It went in deeper, getting thicker as it went. Kink tried to glare at Dream through the heat and the haze, but the sense of fulfillment made focus difficult.

"fuck-" Kink hated having his weakness for size used against him. How fucking dare-

The dildo stretched his magic up, following the curve of his spine and just breaching the cavity of his ribcage. That was his sweet spot. The stretching, the fullness, the teasing brushes and vibe on his dick: Kink came, seeing stars and screaming obscenities.

What brought him out of it was a warm hand on his face, tilting him to one side. He blinked, only getting a glance of deep red and pink before he was kissed, tasting spiced apples. Dream was far more forceful in his attempt at domination than Kink expected, so much so that Kink found himself at a loss in his afterglow. Fucker. How dare he kiss good.

"I believe that is one," Dream murmured, licking his teeth. "Shall we see how long it takes to get to two?"

Kink sneered. "just try it. i dare you."

Kink got in this chair to outlast Cross. He would be staying to outlast Dream.

Chapter Text

The influx of bitties in the castle was an almost unanimous delight, but no one was more delighted than Falsi. Falsi fell in deep, fathomless, fanatical love upon first seeing the tiny Pippins, and reached to claim them all so they would never know a moment of being cold and unloved. His cold, crusty, dried-up heart broke to jagged pieces when he learned he could only keep one. It pained him to remove the precious treasures from his coat, but at least he was left with his own, his precious little moonbeam, a living fragment of his godking to carry in his pockets always.

The later surprise of the Pazazz that Dream presented him with was just icing on an already perfect cake, letting him have a perfect complementary set. Falsi adored his bitties, loved them endlessly, and was determined to spoil them.

Falsi was also the local doctor, and bitties were terribly fragile subcategories of monsters. His hasty but detailed research made him all the more certain that they would need regular checkups. Monthly, at least. Definitely. It would be remiss of him to let the tiny darlings go neglected. They had no idea what living in a pseudo liminal space would do to them, after all, or what environmental factors might need accommodated. Falsi absolutely had to take responsibility and sacrifice some of his busy schedule to see them all personally.

And for the convenience of everyone else involved, why not have it all at once? A Bitty Doctor Visit Day was definitely necessary. For science. For good health. For Falsi to have a play date with all the bitties and love and spoil them because that is literally doctor recommended. Four out of Five doctors agree that Falsi was entitled to swim in a puddle of happy bitties.

"Come here- come here, you mischief-" Falsi tittered, chasing a skittering little Pizazz with his hand as it scaled up his opposite arm. The golden imp flapped its tiny wings for extra propulsion, climbing all the way to his shoulder and then jumping off to slide down his back like it was some leather-upholstered slide. "Come back here, I need- I need to check your burns, sunspot." Goodness, did Kink spoil his little pet in ways Falsi wouldn't have the stomach for, but he had to make sure it healed clean and healthy!

The Pazazz just giggled, darting under Falsi's coat again to hide in the crowd. Falsi sighed, looking down at himself and his predicament. He supposed his idea wasn't particularly efficient, but he was... very happy. The Pippins had all crawled into his clothes and found his secret pockets, all of which he had emptied just for them to be able to comfortably sleep in. Falsi hated to disturb them, so he was focusing on the little mischiefs climbing him like some great big jungle gym. The Pazazzes were energetic, playing games on his legs and climbing up him to feel tall.

It was no time at all before Falsi could pinpoint Kink's Pazazz again, the little dear already playing another round of its climbing game. Acting more swiftly this time, Falsi deftly plucked the bitty off his pantleg and held it up to examine. Sure enough, the burn work was clean and healing well. Kink was diligent at aftercare, so Falsi wasn't honestly worried, but checking was his job. "Is it tender at all?" He asked the giggling bitty.

"NO!" The Pazazz fluttered its wings, gold as honey, as sunflowers, as the gleam of morning. "SEE? DADDY IS GOOD TO ME!"

"Of course he is," Falsi agreed. He gave the little dear a few gentle pets and nuzzles. It had a healthy scent, if a bit musky by comparison to others. It was fascinating how the bitties started to smell faintly like their bonded.

Kink's Pazazz wiggled, excited to get back to playing. Falsi cuddled it a little longer before tying a little ribbon around its neck (proof of being checked for the day) and letting it back to its fun. It went right back to its energetic antics, joining the others in his lap to wrestle and chase.

Pleased with his work so far, Falsi went about doing another headcount. He counted the Pazazzes first: Falsi's, Blue's, Cross', Kink's, Dust's, Killer's, Hiphop's- all seven seemed to be present, accounted for, and already assessed. He admired them, his soul full of rainbows. Next, he had to start seeing to the Pippins. He reached into his pockets, grasping for one at random.

The little Pippin he found first was half asleep, making the cat-activation-noise as he pulled it from the warmth of its hiding place.

Falsi cradled the shard of moonlight with all the reverence he could muster, inspecting them for any sign of mismanagement. This one was Cash's, by the smell, and other than a little excess nectar production, seemed well tended..? "How are you feeling, moonbeam?" Falsi asked, stroking its little head.

The Pippins were quiet by nature, shy things that took great trust to speak their mind. Falsi feels even more rainbows in his soul when he hears it speak. "...'m just tired. master's always working me..."

"Working you?" Falsi asked, suspicious.

The bitty closed its sockets, relaxing even further into Falsi's hands. "...master really likes sugar..."

Falsi squinted, even more suspicious. He would have to investigate that, but for now, the little darling deserved to rest. He tied a ribbon on it, gave it plenty of kisses and nuzzles, then tucked it back into it's chosen pocket. His hands were sticky, but Falsi didn't mind. Samples were valuable after all, and he was meticulous about gathering them before picking up the next Pippin.

The next Pippin was Kink's. When Falsi picked it up, it trembled, turning a soft, plush pink in mere seconds. It's tiny, helpless whimpers broke Falsi's metaphorical heart. "Oh, moonbeam... Does it hurt?"

The Pippin looked up at Falsi with teary eyelights, it's breathing labored. "help..?"

How could Falsi ever turn it away? He brought the Pippin closer, cradling its tiny, quivering body in both hands as he showered it in kisses. "Of course, lovely. Relax, I'll take care of everything~" It was Falsi's utter delight to be of service! With special care, he shifted his grip to the bitty's legs up and out of the way, sliding his thumb up and under its clothes to stroke the soft, wet folds of its ecto. The Pippin let out a soft, broken little cry as Falsi found it's tender, sensitive nub, and played with it as gently as he was able. Sweet sugar scents flooded the air, and even more sticky nectar coated Falsi's fingers as he worked.

It was a delight to watch that face contort through the many stages of pleasure until finally breaking with a whine, falling into bliss. Kink's Pippin arched its back, grinding into Falsi's finger and chasing its high until it had worked through every spasm, going limp in the afterglow. Poor thing, poor sweet little moonbeam, must have been terribly pent up. Falsi would have to thank- correction: scold Kink later for 'neglecting' his precious responsibility~

It was a few seconds after the Pippin's cries had gone silent that Falsi noticed that the other bitties had also gone silent. He looked down to see seven pairs of bright pink eyelights staring up at him and his valuable handful.

Then.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"THAT WAS GREAT."

"CAN I DO THAT?"

"CAN I DO THAT TO OTHER PEOPLE?"

Kink's Pazazz climbed quickly up and over Falsi's arm to sit close to its paired Pippin, nuzzling it. "LEMME DO IT! I WANNA-"

"Now, now, mischief," Falsi interrupted the little brat, giving it a smooch. "This one is all tuckered out. You'll have to wait for him to rest~"

The Pazazz pouted a little, reaching to take the Pippin away from Falsi. Falsi booped him in the face, very gently, and, after tying a little ribbon on the Pippin, tucked them both back into his pocket. The Pazazz curled up with the Pippin, the two tangling together to rest, uncaring of the mess.

Falsi turned back to the other Pazazzes, feeling their tiny, predatory gazes pinning him from their places in his lap. His Pazazz in particular had that look of true mischief and hunger, the one that usually meant Falsi would be getting no work done that required the use of his mind or his legs. He reached to stroke its head and back, trying to pacify the demanding, adorable tyrant. "A little more patience, sunspot. Just let me finish looking over the others."

His Pazazz bit his fingers, nuzzling them and clinging. "NO. MY TURN."

"But I already looked you over?"

"MY TURN." And then that little mischief surged forward, crawling under Falsi's shirt to settle in his pelvis. The next thing Falsi knew, there were several tiny tendrils laced through his sacrum, his Pazazz secured to his tailbone by magic zipties. Falsi sucked in a breath, going rigid just to keep from squirming so violently it might jostle the other bitties. Another Pazazz tried to follow (Hiphop's), but Falsi's bitty let out a hiss, as well as a strong territorial scent that Falsi thought was a warning of some kind. Hiphop's Pazazz hissed back, climbing in anyway, and he could feel them wrestling there, in a place it was very hard to even think of pulling them out.

Falsi accepted his fate, and reached instead for the next Pippin. He'd suffer in as much silence as he could manage, and let the little empaths feed on his emotions, the bliss and suffering both.